The Misadventures of Megan Quincy
by toastedcheese
Summary: NEVER TO BE FINISHED. The bizarre and often amusing adventures of Megan Quincy, average teenage girl gone 24th century. Written back when that sort of thing was new and cool. Arguably a Mary Sue, but she does have the semblance of a distinct personality.
1. Megan Lends a Hand

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: This story is unfinished and will not be updated. I abandoned it quite a few years ago and have since moved on to other fandoms and more polished prose. I hope you enjoy it, but you'll have to imagine the rest of Megan's adventures for yourselves. Thanks for reading!  
**Disclaimer:** Blame Paramount.  
**Summary:** Megan Quincy, teenage girl, gets caught up in a mysterious government project and ends up in the most unlikely of places.  
_**Rating:**_PG for minor language.

**The Misadventures of Megan Quincy  
**_Chapter I: Megan Lends a Hand_

by toastedcheese (formerly galadriel)

Megan Quincy, called Meg or even Quinn when people are too lazy to say her name properly, is an ordinary girl. Too ordinary, in fact. Her hair is dull brown, sometimes violet streaked, golden tinted in the summer. Her feet are big and clumsy, but the rest of her is small, looking up at the world, wondering if she will ever grow into her shoes.

I know Megan very well, perhaps because she is me. I am very proud of this accomplishment, since most people go through life never really knowing themselves. They simply stroll along, sight-seeing like high-heeled and camera-holding tourists, looking at about everything except themselves.

I'm a tourist too, studying the world, but I don't stop there. I like to take a look at myself, trying to understand my own nature and occasionally better it. And I daydream; taking the world and molding it like clay, into castles and stars and dragons. I am an artist, you could say, constantly painting the canvases of my mind.

Maybe this is why I was not too surprised when one Thursday afternoon last winter, a sleek, black car with government license plate drove into the parking lot of my apartment building.

Not surprised does not mean apathetic. I was fascinated with this car's appearance, and watched through my bedroom window as a man in a black suit and tie exited the car and slowly walked towards the door, as if he had all the time in the world.

My mind raced with the possibilities: perhaps one of my neighbors was in trouble with the CIA or the FBI. Maybe I was living near a murderer or a terrorist! The thought both horrified and excited me. I put aside the homework with which I was struggling and ran out of my room to the front door, looking through the peephole in case the mysterious man happened to walk through our hallway.

Seconds later, a figure wearing an expensive-looking black suit appeared in the left of my view. In a few seconds, I made some important observations. He was one of those in-between people, whose age could range from thirty to fifty. His dark hair was slicked back from a long, drawn-out face. Pale blue eyes peered out wearily. He was very business-like, very conscientious, very boring.

To my astonishment, the man stopped at my door and gently tapped the doorbell. Something about the way his eyes regarded the peephole made my spine shiver, as if he could see me.

The chime sounded. I reluctantly put on the chain and open the door as far as it would go, peeking my head out into the hallway. "Yes?" I asked timidly. My voice shook, something that I had not intended it to do.

"CIA," he proclaimed in a dull voice. "Are you Megan Quincy?"

Five minutes later, Agent Jim Roschland was drinking day-old coffee in my kitchen. My brain was still trying to process this situation, and I was having trouble thinking clearly.

"I suppose you'd like to know why I'm here," he said after a few sips of his drink. He placed the chipped mug on the table. His voice had grown livelier; perhaps the caffeine had woken him up.

"I was wondering when you'd get to that," I answered, my voice braver than I'd expected.

He took an extra long swill of the coffee, wiped his mouth with a napkin, sighed, and began. "Miss Quincy, I am on an extremely confidential project called A.A.U.P. We've been watching you for several months, and believe you are the perfect candidate for a very important mission."

I stared at him as if he were a mad clown with a toy gun, asking for the contents of my mother's jewelry box. Me? Important government mission? Without thinking, I blurted out, "Like hell you do."

Roschland sighed again. There was a hint of sorrow in his voice as he spoke. "Believe it or not, Miss Quincy, it's true. I'm afraid I cannot give you specific details at this point, but you may know this much: that your cooperation will be an enormous contribution to science as we know it. Of course," his voice became quiet, almost soothing if not for its decidedly grainy texture, like sandpaper, "you must leave your home."

The mad clown threw away his fake gun and assaulted me with a jelly donut. "You've got to be kidding. How can I even be sure you're a CIA agent and not some wacko who's gonna kidnap me and ask my parents for a ransom?"

Roschland said nothing. His eyes were distinctly bored. He retrieved a wide-mouthed blue jar from the left pocket of his jacket and placed it on the table. He slowly unscrewed the lid and placed it beside the jar. Inside was a gray gel similar to the fluid of a lava lamp.

"What's that?" I asked, looking at it in curiosity.

"Touch it," he urged. "It won't hurt you."

I gave him a bewildered look, shrugged, and placed my palm on the surface of the sludge. It looked about as dangerous as a dyspeptic slug, and if the agent really wanted to kill me, surely there were more direct ways than goop poisoning.

Nothing happened. The gray material was cool like mud, with the consistency of Jello. I pulled my hand away and gave Roschland a doubtful look.

"Wait," he said. Moments after his words, the goop began to take shape, as if invisible hands were molding it. It morphed into a reproduction of my hand, identical in shape, size, and color. The only difference was the lack of blue nail polish.

A million scenes flashed through my head as I stared dumbly at the dismembered finger sticking out of the remainder of the goop. Most of them involved cheesy episodes of Star Trek. Only one thing was certain, and it was absolutely impossible.

The goop had just replicated my hand.

I found it rather hard to believe that a kidnapper would have such an unbelievably sci-fi substance. This was the type of thing that would be hidden away in government vaults and kept there.

I continued to stare at the impossible image in front of me, wondering if it could possibly be real. After a few seconds of gawking, I looked away. My head hurt.  
"Where did you get that," I managed.

Roschland, silent as usual, took something else out of his jacket pocket, a small glass vial full of a clear liquid. I wondered if he would remove a floor lamp next. He took the cork out of the bottle and poured the liquid onto the finger, reverting it to its gray form. When he was done, he closed both jar and vial and put both into his pocket.

"What you just saw is not of this universe. That is all I can tell you."

I didn't even attempt to process that information. I couldn't grasp it in the least. So I let it slide. "What happens if I decide not to go?" I asked timidly.

Out of the left pocket came a small blue plastic bead. "This, when charged and placed on your forehead, will stun you for twenty seconds, enough for me to leave. It will then erase your memories of this encounter."

That was it. The whole thing was crazy. "Right, and if I go with you I get to wear a spiffy suit and kill aliens?" I laughed.

Roschland was not amused. "This may sound like a joke, but I can assure you it's quite effective." The expression on his face was solemn as a church, his eyes unblinking.

I blinked. "You're serious, aren't you." I looked at the blue plastic gem again: this time in fear.

When I was a little kid, I fell out of a tree onto the edge of the sidewalk. I hit the ground in just the right way so that my skull didn't break, but I was knocked unconscious. When I woke up, I had amnesia. It only lasted for a couple days, and my memories of the experience are vague, but what I do remember fills me with terror. I didn't know who I was or where I was, I had no identity. For two days, I was completely alone.

I'd forgotten the experience over the years, pushed it back into the depths of my memory, but at the sight of this weapon, this small blue monster in front of me, the memories came back with a vengeance. Irrational as it may sound, the idea of losing my memory made my stomach churn.

Besides, this was the first interesting thing that had occurred in my life. This was my chance to have an adventure, to see more miracles like the replicating goo. Two points for Roschland on that account.

And so I said the two words that shaped my future. They were rather mindless, rather selfish, rather stupid. But I said them none the less.

"I'll go."

Five minutes later, I was packing a small black suitcase. Roschland was standing in my door uneasily, eyeing my stuffed animals and posters as if they were really tape recorders or enemy bombs.

What does one pack when they're leaving forever? After useful items such as my favorite clothes, toothpaste, shampoo, etc, I had some decisions to make.

First, a dog-eared journal that I was currently writing in. Next, a computer disk containing typed-up journal entries of the last two years, previously saved in this format with the eventual intent of publishing them on the Web. Then, a couple disks containing some of my better short stories and all of my fan fiction, good or not. An avid fan of Buffy, Daria, and Star Trek, my attempts at rewriting the lives of my favorite characters have usually resulted in failure, but a couple stories actually turned out decently. My CD collection, a couple favorite books, and my life savings--aka, $22.50--went in after that, and that was all. There were plenty more things I'd like to take, but nothing crucial.

"Are you done?" Roschland called from the door.

I nodded. "I'd...like to leave a note, just a short one..." I murmured, realizing what I was doing and having a million second thoughts all at once.

"I'm sorry," Roschland said, his eyes returning to their unhappy state. He slowly entered my room, fishing for something in his jacket. I stared at him in surprise, wondering what he'd produce next from the magic pocket.

In a couple of seconds, a small red plastic gem was in his hand.

"What the hell is that?" I asked, startled but unmoving

Roschland took a tiny metallic pin from the jacket and began prodding the gem. He prodded at it three times. Then he placed it on my forehead. Before I could remove it, my eyes filled with inky black.

"Good night, Megan."

After reading numerous books dealing with fainting, it is clear to me that all sense of time is lost after passing out. If you haven't had as much experience with the topic, I'll assure you that the fictional tales are truthful to real life. Therefore, it would be a cliche to start by saying, "Minutes or hours later." Unfortunately, that's what really happened, so cliches be damned.

Minutes or hours later, I awoke. Barely. I was aware of voices around me, voices that were strangely familiar. I tried to identify them, but that amount of thinking made my head hurt. My eyes also ached, and I didn't feel like opening them quite yet. So I lay there, breathing and wondering where on earth I was.

"Doctor! She's awake," was the first really clear phrase I heard. The voice--I knew that voice, but I couldn't put a face to it. I managed to open my eyes slightly, just wide enough to see.

What I saw was enough to make me faint again.


	2. A Universe Painted Gray

**Disclaimer: **Paramount owns the Voyager people, I don't (unfortunately). Get it? Megan and the turtle pjs are all mine, though.

**Summary: **Megan wakes up to find herself on our favorite starship. Unfortunately, she's stuck there. The perks and drawbacks of universe hopping.

**Rating: **PG for minor language.

**The Misadventures of Megan Quincy  
**_Chapter 2: A Universe Painted Gray_  
  
**by galadriel**

So where was I? Ah, yes, I was staring in complete and utter disbelief, ready to pass out. I tried closing my eyes again, hoping to wake up in my bed, all of this a faint dream.

It didn't work.

I glanced around timidly at my surroundings. My heart pounded as I surveyed the extremely familiar tan biobeds, gray walls in various shades of gray, and gray consoles, tinted by blue, white, and yellow lighting. But it wasn't the colorful blinking panels or the high tech medical equipment that made my head spin. No, it was the figure standing in front of me that induced astonishment in my mind.

The red and black uniform. The crossed arms. The hair that had caused hysteria among people everywhere. The eyes that could bore holes through titanium, currently regarding me with concern. 

Standing next to me, with an air of both compassion and absolute power, was Captain Kathryn Janeway herself.

"Please tell me you're Kate Mulgrew," I murmured hoarsely. 

"Excuse me?" Kathryn Janeway asked, confusion on her face. 

"Um.... It's complicated," I responded, trying to piece together the events of the past half-hour in my head. Roschland... the red gem.... Roschland had told me the replicating goo wasn't from our universe.... So it was from another universe, I realized, an epiphany of the sickeningly obvious. And now our good buddies at the government had sent me to the said alternate universe... maybe to make sure there were no terrible side effects of universe hopping. I was the perfect candidate: was young, gullible, and versed in Trek.

No, that made way too much sense. I was dreaming. I *had* to be dreaming. Please God, let this be a dream. I tried the closing-eye thingy again, then pinched myself a couple of times. My arm hurt, but I was still here.

Janeway was still staring at me, most likely wondering what the hell was going on.

"I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway. And you?" she prompted. As she spoke, the Doctor popped out of his lab, holding a PADD and looking perplexed. I had never noticed quite how shiny his head was until now. "It seems that our visitor is from somewhere more distant than we thought," he said. "My scans show that she's from¾ "

"An alternate universe," I interrupted, feeling obligated to explain my own situation. "And about four hundred years in the past. In my universe, this is all a television show and you're characters. This is completely impossible."

"Television show?" Janeway exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips. "Are you telling me that we're some sort of entertainment on your world?" I couldn't tell if she was amazed or just appalled.

I nodded humbly, feeling like a voyeur. My mind strayed to my fan fiction, making me feel even worse, then to my suitcase, then back to Roschland's red gem....

"How did I get here anyway?" I asked suddenly. "I think that the government sent me as some kind of test to make sure travel between universes is safe¾ who knows how they got that technology-- but how did I actually get *****here*?"

"You materialized, unconscious, on the bridge this morning, along with this." She motioned to my black suitcase, which was on the floor beside my biobed. 

I sat up, ran my hands through my now-disheveled hair, and set the small rectangular suitcase next to me on the biobed. 

Janeway examined the nametag hanging from the handle of the suitcase. "Megan Quincy," she read aloud. "Welcome to Voyager, Miss Quincy," she greeted with a firm handshake.

"Thank you, Captain," I answered, still unable to comprehend that I was addressing a Starfleet captain. "How am I, Doctor?" I asked, wondering if Roschland's gem had any lasting effects.

The Doctor looked rather disconcerted, since I'd identified him without being introduced, but whipped out a medical tricorder and started scanning anyway. "All readings normal, Miss Quincy," he announced. "Unless the Captain has any objections, you're free to go."

"Sounds fine. I'll show you to your quarters." I stood up and grabbed my suitcase. 

"Thank you, Doctor," I told him as I left. 

"You're welcome." He put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "And for what it's worth, good luck."

*******

"So you're saying that the United States government has the power to travel between universes at the turn of the millenium?" Janeway asked incredulously as we walked down the corridor.

I shrugged. "I'm just as surprised as you are. I mean, Voyager doesn't even have that power. And why they chose me to test it out on me is beyond me. It's sort of disgusting, that they'll send a kid but won't go themselves." I sighed angrily as I confronted my predicament. "I'm not going to get home, am I?"

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but unless your people bring you back with their own technology, I don't see how that's possible. But I promise we'll try to make you as happy here as possible." She paused reflectively. "How much do you know about us from this television show"

I couldn't help but smile. "A lot. I'm a big fan. It's so amazing, to actually be here, to walk down these corridors. I can't believe it's real."

Janeway smiled. "I'm flattered. It's hard to believe that our lives are interesting enough to be a source of entertainment."

"One of the best shows on TV," I assured her. Then, after a pause. "I wonder if by coming here, I've changed the future of your universe? Since my presence is obviously not going to be on the show back home.... Weird."

"If there's anything that gives me a headache, it's alternate universes," Janeway confided.

"Almost as much as time travel?" I asked.

"How...." Her astonishment disappeared as realization washed over her. "I have a feeling that's not all you know about me," she said, amused. We walked down the corridor in silence for a while. Finally, she spoke again. "We'll have to make some decisions about your future on Voyager."

"Like what?" I asked, with a sense of foreboding. 

"Well, for one thing," she started, "who's going to take care of you? How old are you, Megan?"

"Fifteen," I answered, a bit sullenly. And for a moment I realized how alone I was, the only human teenage girl in the entire Delta Quadrant... besides the '37s colony, I reminded myself, perhaps trying to hide from the truth. Still, I was like an orphan, except that my parents were in another universe, and technically not dead.... They weren't really anything. I wanted to throw something. Right in Roschland's face.

"I can take care of myself. No one has to adopt me," I stated before Janeway had a chance to say anything.

"For now, I'd say that's fine. We have two other children on board, as I'm sure you know. The Doctor and Seven of Nine can teach you like they instruct Naomi and Icheb. But," she added, "Voyager's heading for Earth. When we get there, you'll need somewhere to stay."

"By the time you get home, I might be an adult," I speculated, although I knew it was a lie. If this Voyager had the same future as the show back home, they were definitely getting home within the next year.

We suddenly stopped at quarters that I supposed were mine. I gazed at the cold gray doors. Why are the insides of starships always so boring?

"These are your quarters," Janeway confirmed, opening the door with a touch of the panel beside the door. She paused for a moment. "We don't have to decide anything right now. I'll come tomorrow morning and show you to the mess hall." She gave me a comforting smile. "Sleep well, Megan."

"Thank you," I said appreciatively. I entered the quarters, the doors closing behind me.

They were gray and lonely and oppressive, like every other room on this ship. Like my insides. Only one thing comforted and astonished me: the beautiful view of stars zooming past my window, small, glittering fireflies soaring across an inky sky. I was transfixed by them, bright and glorious, on the edge of reality. 

After gaping out the window for a few minutes, I put my suitcase down and opened it. On the top were my favorite pajamas, green with a goofy turtle print. The sheer contrast to the rest of this crazy day almost made me laugh¾ almost. 

I put on my pjs, then brushed my teeth: an activity that seemed completely necessary. It made me feel a little safer and saner; as long as I could brush my teeth and taste that strong mint flavor on my breath, all was right with the world.

Then I got into bed: a gray bed with strangely textured sheets, a bed that was not my own. A universe that was not my own.

I clenched my teeth and counted to ten, promising myself I would not cry.

Before five, tears were streaming down my cheeks.

So what'd you think? PLEASE REVIEW! Please? Pretty please? With a cherry on top? With-- okay, I'll shut up now.


	3. Tea With Veronica

****

"I scream, you scream, we all scream for non-fat tofutti rice Dreamsicle" -The X-Files [Mulder]

Reality is a big, nasty, vicious dragon, but I don't believe in dragons. -Anonymous

Note: Sorry bout the delay! I've been really busy, and haven't had a lot of time to work on my fic. In fact, this chapter is really only half as long as it's supposed to be, but I figured I'd make the people happy and give them what I've written so far. Chapter 4 will be finished soonish, I hope. 

****

Disclaimer: The only god is Paramount and galadriel is its prophet. Megan belongs to me. Lotty gets her last name from some random report in "Year of Hell", but otherwise, her character is mine too. Ben Affleck and Alanis Morissette belong to themselves.

****

Summary: Megan's first day starts off with good and bad: alarm clocks, hot guys, icky oatmeal, and introspection. 

****

Rating: PG for minor language. 

****

The Misadventures of Megan Quincy  
_Chapter 3:_ _Tea With Veronica_  
  
**by galadriel**

I hate alarm clocks. No, I despise alarm clocks. Sleep is one of the greatest things in existence: an escape from problems, a cure to weariness, the ideal end to a long day. For seven or eight hours, you're in a peaceful, secure state of mind. Then, this high-pitched shriek of an alarm clock startles you into an uncomfortable form of awakeness. And all you can think is, UGH.

Surprisingly enough, I'd fallen asleep pretty quickly the night before (after having a good cry and feeling sorry for myself, of course). Travelling four hundred years and into another universe apparently tires you out. I was engrossed in a dream concerning Monopoly, Janet Jackson, a field of sunflowers, and my current infatuation, Zach Hudson, when BUZZ! a very Starfleet-sounding alarm rang.

I groaned loudly, my groan shifting into a yawn. With half-opened eyes, I looked around at the spartan room, slowly recalling the events of last night and cursing whoever had set the alarm. Probably the Captain.

For a split second I remembered that I needed to get up and get ready for breakfast, but my thoughts quickly turned to another subject: namely, self-pity. 

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that I had been so stupid to begin with, and the government had whisked me away to the galaxy of Humanoid Aliens, and that I was never going to see my family or friends again. It wasn't fair that I was cursed to spend the rest of my life in a world that wasn't my own. It wasn't fair....

No. I wasn't going to lose my head. I was going to take a deep breath and look at the situation practically and objectively. I'd cried enough last night. There was nothing I could do. Now was time to come to my senses and realize how amazing this journey was¾ I was in an alternate universe, in space, destined to see nebulae and aliens and a thousand other miracles. The stars outside my window attested to that fact. Really, I was incredibly lucky.

So I said a prayer, the quick type that you whisper when you need some strength but don't have the time to properly request it, and went to the bathroom to figure out how to work the sonic shower.

I was twisting my hair into a braid when the door chime sounded. "Just a second," I called, patting down my hair and racing to the door. I hoped I was dressed okay: I was wearing the nicest clothes I'd brought, a blue sweater and bellbottom khakis. Perfectly normal clothes for a teenager of my time, but on Voyager, I was sure to stick out.

I tapped the button. The door slid open... and my chin dropped in a way that I wished it wouldn't.

It was a guy. A tall, gorgeous, Bajoran guy with a small shy smile, dark hair, and extremely nice eyes. In one word, Wow. My heart was doing cartwheels and nudging my stomach to join in the celebration. Before long, all of my insides were doing the Macarena. 

"Hi!" I said faintly, wondering why this guy hadn't gotten more guest roles.

"Hello," he greeted. "I'm Crewman Gerron. I've been sent to escort you to the mess hall."

Gerron. That sounded familiar. Where had I heard it before? After a second of searching my brain, I remembered. Crewman Gerron was the angry-at-the-world rebel-teen in Tuvok's boot camp, all the way back in "Learning Curve", one of my favorite episodes (mostly on account of the "get the cheese to sickbay" line). Of course, that guy had been antisocial and not particularly handsome. It couldn't possibly be him.

"Are you sure?" I found myself saying.

He gave me a quizzical look. "Of course. The Captain sent me herself."

"No, I meant...." I searched for the words, and then gave up. "Never mind. Let's go."

Two seconds into our walk, I realized I'd omitted a major piece of information. "I'm Megan Quincy," I said. _He probably already knows that_, I told myself afterwards. _What a waifhead comment. Completely out of the blue._

Gerron didn't seem to notice the suddenness of my introduction. "Nice to meet you, Megan," he said with his Ben-Affleck-class smile. "Do you like Voyager? As exciting as the entertainment show?"

"I haven't been here long enough to say. I'm sure it will be fine," I told him. "How do you know about it being a TV show? Did Janeway tell you?"

"She didn't need to," he replied. "The whole ship is talking about you. We don't get new crewmembers very often, and any news spreads fast."

"I'm trying to decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing," I said nervously. "But I suppose it's fair, since I know a lot about everyone else."

"If I were you, I'd keep any personal information to myself," Gerron said. "As I said, news spreads fast—"

"And we wouldn't want the entire crew's secrets in the hands of, like, Tom Paris," I finished.

"Exactly." We were at the turbolift now. The doors slid open for us. "Mess hall," Gerron instructed as soon as we were inside.

Hardly ten seconds later, we were walking through the mess hall doors. The room was slightly larger than it looked on TV. The stars were prettier. Neelix was just as weird looking, currently behind the counter, passing out breakfasts of questionable origin and smiling in an endearingly annoying way.

The most amazingly... *cool* thing was that a large percentage of the room, including the handsome guy next to me, were aliens. Some were even blue. I walked behind Gerron to the food line, in a daze.

"Good morning!" Neelix greeted when I reached him. "You must be Megan Quincy. I'm Neelix, the morale officer and chef here. And a pretty darn good one if I do say so myself." His last sentence was followed by a peculiar drawn-out laugh reminiscent of "Ex Post Facto". "Well," he said once he had caught his breath, "Welcome to Voyager."

"Thank you," I said, trying to smile convincingly. Neelix's cheery disposition must have rubbed off on me at that point, because my smile *was* real. Until I looked at the breakfast, that is.

Now, I know that, contrary to popular opinion, Neelix's food isn't completely awful. It just tends to be... flavorful. Unfortunately, this fact was not registering in my mind when I saw the lumpy, multicolor oatmeal-like substance, complete with black specks that were probably some Talaxian herb. 

"Take an orange one."

I turned around and saw Harry Kim standing behind me, eyeing the oatmeal suspiciously just like I was. "The orange ones are best," he explained, quietly enough so that Neelix couldn't hear.

"Thank you," I mouthed, taking an orange oatmeal and what appeared to be a cup of tea. Drinking tea is a strange habit that I got from my older cousin, Veronica. She's in college and very into self-improvement, yoga, and finding her inner Buddha. After spending several Saturdays together one summer at the cafe in Barnes & Noble, reading books without paying for them and sipping hot beverages, I acquired her taste for herbal tea. 

I really missed Veronica.

Anyway... where to sit? Gerron had disappeared into oblivion; besides, I didn't want to impose on him. I stood in the middle of the mess hall cluelessly, like a new kid in the cafeteria. A pretty accurate analogy, if you thought about it. 

Harry took an orange oatmeal and a red fruit juice and left the line. "Hey, you can sit with us if you want," he told me.

"Thank you," I said, relieved. "I don't know anyone, and I'd feel sort of stupid sitting down with strangers."

"But you don't know me," Harry pointed out as we approached his table.

"I suppose it feels like I know you. You're a main character on the show," I clarified.

Harry was about to reply when a voice shouted, "Harry Kim, I am going to kill you!"

Harry shook his head and smiled, setting his tray on the table where the voice had originated from. "You're going to scare our guest, Lotty."

Lotty was tall and brunette. She had a big mouth that was smiling widely, showing off perfect Starfleet-issue teeth. She reminded me of Alanis Morissette except with better hair. 

"I bet you're Megan," she said. "Sorry about my outburst. Harry here _lost_ an _extremely_ important _family_ _heirloom _of mine."

"It was a napkin from a Parisi Squares tournament," he countered, giving her a "you're a lunatic" look. 

"The first ever Parisi Squares tournament!" 

Harry rolled his eyes. "Lotty, I am very, very sorry for losing your napkin." He turned to me. "Megan, this is Lotty Emmanuel. You can ignore her."

Lotty pretended to be angry, but I could tell that she was actually quite amused. "Oh really, Mr. Ensign," she scoffed. "And my name is really Itzpapalotl, which Harry omitted because he can't pronounce it."

"Its-pap-a-lot-al?" I ventured, knowing I was completely wrong. 

"Eets-pahpah-loh-tahl," Lotty corrected. "It's Aztec. Which is pretty strange since I'm Italian, Russian, and a little bit Vietnamese. My parents were feeling adventurous, I guess. It means "obsidian butterfly"."

"It's unique," I said, not knowing what else to say. Thank God she had a nickname. 

I was introduced to everyone else at the table: Jim Blain, Wendy Jenkins, Clement Ashmore, Isaac Thompson, and the Delaney twins (Megan Delaney being very excited to meet me because of our mutual, supposedly "rare", first name.) After chatting for a few minutes I ventured to try the oatmeal: it was slightly spicy, but actually not too terrible. Everyone was very friendly. Although I knew they probably regarded me as a child, they didn't belittle me, even when trying to explain exactly how a phaser works (knowledge that they took for granted). 

In the middle of a long and complicated joke involving two Bolians, a Vulcan, and thirty dishtowels soaked in prune juice, Seven of Nine approached me. I would be lying if I said she didn't scare me, just a little. Not because she was a Borg: while _Next Generation_ Borgs had frightened me (they were weirder, more mysterious, deadlier, and besides, I was seven), I must admit the _Voyager_ incarnation of the Evil Beings were much less scary, not to mention more predictable. It wasn't her Borg implants, but her stiff, almost mechanical nature that intimidated me. I could tell there was a person in there somewhere, but Seven wasn't going to let her out if she had her way about it. Something about her manner reminded me of my friend Kate's English grandmother: prim, uncompromising, and no-nonsense. Gram Alice watched _Murder She Wrote_ *every* day at 5:30, had an "a place for everything and everything in its place" philosophy, and color-coded her socks. 

"Am I correct in assuming that you are Megan Quincy?" Seven asked in a voice that had barely enough emotion to discern it from a computer. 

"Yes. And you're Seven of Nine," I replied, evilly hoping to startle her.

She didn't even flinch. "Welcome to Voyager," she intoned. A hint of... warmth? actually colored that statement. She handed me a gray PADD. "This contains your schedule and other information that you will find pertinent to your stay. There is a minor change in it today; the captain wishes to see you in her ready room at fifteen hundred hours."

I mentally converted the time in my head, coming out with 3:00 PM. "Thank you," I replied, taking the PADD and scanning the first few lines. At "800 hours"—8 AM in my time—I was to report to Cargo Bay Two: aka Home Sweet Home to Seven and Icheb and Little Red Schoolhouse of Voyager.

"You're welcome," Seven replied. "I will see you at eight-hundred hours." She was about to leave, then added, "I hope that you will find Voyager... satisfactory."

"Thanks, it's been great so far," I replied.

"I am glad," and she returned to her solitary seat across the room, where a PADD and a bowl of bluish oatmeal were waiting for her.

There was a funny little silence after she left. We all wanted to say something but everyone was too polite to say it.

Everyone but Lotty, that is. "I can't figure her out," she quipped. "I guess she's scared of being a normal, average person. The Borg are mighty and powerful and perfect. We're stupid and confused and small and imperfect. Being Borg is all she knows. It's all she has. Strangely enough, it's what makes her really unique. We all have this compulsion to be special and wonderful, so that we'll feel better about ourselves. Seven is scared and alone, and being Borg is what's keeping her together and giving her a sense of identity."

We all gaped at this amazing show of pop psychology. "Since when did you become ship's councilor?" Thompson asked incredulously. 

Lotty shrugged and took a long sip of her coffee. Finally she replied, "Sometimes I feel that way myself."

And at that moment, I saw myself, wearing bellbottoms and a blue sweater, alone, in a great big milky hurricane of stars. Eating orange oatmeal. Longing for the place where I belonged. Remembering the Saturdays spent drinking tea with Veronica. Wondering if I could possibly fit in.

And for a split second, I felt that way myself.

***

So, what'd you think? Review!! Please!!


	4. Tuatara For the People

The Misadventures of Megan Quincy IV: Tuatara for the People

"The truth is more important than the facts. " **Frank Lloyd Wright (1868-1959)**

**Prologue:** Yeah, I know some of you guys were disappointed with the series finale. Although it was a great episode, it's hard for something like that to be everything to everybody, especially us J/C fans. I'll agree that the whole Chakotay/Seven thing was the only way to tie up Seven's inner conflict, (wo)man vs. machine, given the rest of season seven. Yes, it could have done differently, and, in my opinion, better, if they had done the whole season differently for Seven. C/7 was kind of pulled out of a hat, and it really annoys J/C and D/7 fans.

So, while you're coming to terms with the fates of your favorite characters, I have two sources to offer you:

-[http://www.treknews.com/deltablues/endgame2.html][1]

everyone's favorite review boy, Jim @ Delta Blues, has an excellent analysis of the last episode at the bottom of this page. (Along with the review itself, of course.) it will make you see the episode in a different, and hopefully better, light

-[http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=293212][2]

this story by Mylinae is absolutely wonderful and seriously addicting. A post-Voyager story for everyone, telling us the story of Voyager post-Voyager, with plenty of JC, PT, and, yes, C7. I really suggest you read it, even if you completely despise the concept of C7. 

****

Disclaimer: They own it. I don't. Instead of bothering me, go find some coffee shop with no "caution: this cup contains hot liquid" on their disposable cups to sue. In this day and age, no one will think less of you.

No tuataras were injured in the writing of this story.

****

Summary: Megan's "first day at school" turns out to be kind of okay... until she nearly blows up the ship, that is. 

****

Timeframe: Technically an AU, canon w/ everything before Human Error. Although I've come to accept the C/7 relationship and all the ups and downs that it entails, that doesn't mean it has to pollute my story!

****

Rating: PG for minor language. J/C references.

**The Misadventures of Megan Quincy**  
_Chapter 4:_ _Tuatara for the People_  
  
**by galadriel**

__

There is one good thing I can say about the 24th century, and it is this: the computers actually work properly. You ask them a question, they answer. The buttons are labeled and color-coded. There are no Errors, no "404: The Page Can Not Be Found", no "Please wait while Windows restarts". So when I entered the turbolift after breakfast and asked what deck Cargo Bay Two was on, the computer told me. And when I told it to go to that deck, it took me there. I was amazed, since this is against Murphy's Law of Selective Computer Functions (i.e., if you tell a computer to do something important, it will do the exact opposite or spontaneously crash.)

After a few more pointers from the computer, I found myself at Cargo Bay Two, tapping the funny little door chime and wondering what I'd be studying. With my luck, thermodynamics or something equally technobabbly.

"Enter," I heard Seven of Nine's voice say. 

I walked into the expansive room. Of all of the rooms I'd seen, this was the grayest and most boring yet. The Borg alcoves, decked off with the cool green lightning-bolted circles (which, incidentally, you can find at any _World of Science_ shop at your local mall), were the only color in the entire room. A great deal of the rest was filled with space-age canisters and boxes... and a few bottles of Antarian cider, I thought, trying not to giggle. If I was going to stay on the ship, I really was going to have to get over my J/C tendencies.

Seven was typing on the computer console near the alcoves. Naomi Wildman, the second most colorful thing in the room in her light orange jumper and blue leggings, was sitting Indian-style on the floor, playing with what looked like the 24th century equivalent of a Rubik's Cube. Icheb was standing nearby, reading a PADD.

"Hello," I said quietly. My voice seemed to echo throughout the room.

All three of them looked up. There was one of those awkward half-a-second pauses when you feel like you have a blue nose or a third eye or something.

"Good morning," Seven said finally. She turned to Naomi and Icheb. "Naomi, Icheb, this is your new classmate, Megan Quincy. Megan, this is Naomi Wildman and Icheb."

"Nice to meet you," I said, overly politely.

"Nice to meet you," Icheb replied, quietly and just as politely.

"Hi," Naomi chimed, getting up and pocketing the cube. 

"Our first lesson will be in astronomy," said Seven. "We will go to astrometrics now."

Once we were walking down the corridor, Naomi started piling me with questions.

"Is it true that you're from the past?" she asked. "That's what Icheb said."

Icheb looked bashful. "I'm sorry if I was... gossiping. I was simply informing Naomi of what I had heard."

"That's okay," I said. "It's not as if the entire ship doesn't already know." I addressed Naomi again. "It's true. And I'm from an alternate universe," I added, hoping I wouldn't confuse her too much.

"But... how do you know?" she asked. "How do you know that we're not your future?"

"In my universe, Voyager is a television show."

Naomi thought about this for a while. " Tom and B'Elanna have a television. It's kind of like a computer screen, right?"

"Yeah, except you watch... programs on it."

"Like a holonovel?" Naomi asked.

"Sort of." Television is incredibly dull compared to a holonovel, but I couldn't think of a better comparison.

"Who sent you here?" asked Icheb.

"My government. I'm some kind of guinea pig to test out their technology on."

Icheb looked displeased. "I was under the impression that Earth's governments were relatively moral."

I shrugged. I had no real answers. "So was I."

Astronomy was not as difficult as I expected. I've always loved the subject, and knew enough about it so that I didn't get too confused. It was a lot better than school at home: instead of taking notes while a teacher rambled and drew abstractly on the chalkboard, we analyzed the composition of nebulae that Voyager had passed by and studied a holographic reproduction of a quasar. Unlike the textbooks and telescopes of the 21st century, space was finally tangible. Instead of peering at faraway stars, we were speeding past them. It was poetic and beautiful. When I told Icheb this, he gave me a strange look and informed me that there were more class three nebulae than inhabited planets. 

Whatever.

After learning all of the major gases that make up a class three nebula, we trekked over to sickbay for biology. I took biology last year, and although science had made some major breakthroughs, the principles were the same. Until Naomi and Icheb got to genetics, I was on my own. While the Doctor lectured on the wonders of reptiles, I sat in the back of the room with a PADD of the new and improved table of elements, Zephranium and all. My enormous dislike of chemistry did not help me concentrate, and soon enough I began listening to Naomi and Icheb's bio lesson.

"Rhynchocephalia, the order to which the dinosaurs and related species belonged, was nearly destroyed with their extinction. Millions of years later, only one species survived. One single species," the Doctor repeated, hand gestures and all, "competing in a world of highly evolved creatures. Imagine the struggle, to survive in such-"

"Doctor," Naomi said in a small yet powerful voice, hinting for him to get on with it.

"Yes, of course. Well, this species was the tuatara, native of coastal islands off New Zealand. The tuatara reached a length of approximately two and a half feet, dark olive-green with small white or yellowish specks on the sides and yellow spines along the back, a smaller version of its Jurassic ancestors. Most interestingly, the tuatara had a vestigial third eye, which some biologists believed was once fully functional."

Just as Icheb raised an eyebrow and Naomi exclaimed, "Neat," I shouted from the back of the room, "What do you mean, it _had _a third eye? It's gone?"

The Doctor nodded. "Unfortunately, the tuatara's hardiness did not live up to human stresses. During World War Three, fighting significantly damaged the New Zealand ecosystem, and all but a few thousand tuataras were destroyed. These slowly dwindled, until the species went extinct. Now," he said, giving me a sharp but not unkind look, "I suggest that you study that chart, Miss Quincy, You're going to need to know the basic properties of each element before Seven can begin your instruction in physics."

I nodded and sat down, but before I went back to the chart, I muttered, "That sucks. That really, really sucks."

***

Two more hours passed. Finally, we got a thirty-minute break. We trooped back to the cargo bay. Once we got there, Naomi began asking me more questions about the 21st century and home. She had been worshipping me ever since I had helped her with her algebra. (Yes, Naomi, miniature genius, takes Algebra. The 24th century teaching philosophy believes in grouping kids by skill.) Even Icheb put away his work and listened to me describe cafeteria food, Microsoft, MTV, blowing bubbles, soul music, and the plot of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, all in vivid detail.

After my Buffy spiel, we started talking about music again. Icheb talked enthusiastically about Mozart and a strange sort of 24th century punk-techno-jazz called sybe. 

"I didn't bring my Discman," I griped, leaning my head against the cargo bay wall. It was oddly comfortable. "And my Automatic For The People CD was in it. I suppose I could find the same music on the computer, but... it's just not the same. Like the tuatara, I guess."

Icheb nodded. Somehow, he understood. Naomi did not. She looked at me, confused, knowing that something was wrong, but mystified as to what it was. "What's a Discman?" she asked.

"A machine that plays music, that you carry around. They come with earphones, tiny speakers that go on your ears, so only you can hear it."

"What's Automatic for the People?"

"A CD by REM, a band I like."

"CD?"

"A disc that you can store information on. Music or computer programs."

"_Oh_." Naomi nodded, as if all of her questions about the nature of the world had just been answered.

Icheb, who had been silent all this time, spoke. "I'm sorry, Megan." Not melodramatically, but honestly.

I gave him a surprised look. "What?"

"That you're homesick," he explained. A pause. "And about the tuatara." 

I blushed at a reference to my previous animal-rights fit, but knew that he wasn't only talking about the tuatara, a bizarre but unimportant animal that deserved hardly five minutes in the Doctor's reptile monologue. "Thank you," I said quietly. 

Again, Naomi looked extremely confused and changed the subject. "Do you both want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?" she asked with a smile on her face. "You can meet my mom, Megan, and tell us more stories."

"That would be really nice," I said. It would be. Dinner with Naomi and Samantha Wildman would be a little bit of much-needed normality.

Icheb, on the other hand, shook his head. "I'll be eating with Seven. We need to work on some adjustments for the deflector dish."

Seven, who until that point had been effectively invisible, quietly speed-reading PADDs in the back of the cargo bay, suddenly came back into existence. "I will not require your assistance tomorrow night," she said matter-of-factly to Icheb.

"But-"

"You have helped me a great deal in the past week. If you wish to take some time for recreation, you may."

Icheb pondered this for about a second. "Thank you. I will be happy to go, Naomi." I smiled a little to myself. Despite the wicked intentions of The Powers That Be, Icheb was *not* another Wesley Crusher. He knew how to have fun. This was a very good thing.

I glanced at my digital watch, which I had adjusted to Voyager time. "It's 11:18. We should probably get going to...." I checked my schedule. "History? Who teaches that?" 

"Commander Tuvok reviews our work and gives us new assignments every week," Icheb explained. "We will be seeing him today. The rest of the time, we study on our own."

"This should be interesting," I speculated. "Star Trek history is completely weird. Dates shifting by whole centuries, a complete restructuring of Klingon facial features...."

Naomi, Icheb, and Seven all gave me concerned looks.

"Never mind," I said. "Let's go."

***

My stomach hurt. Not painfully, just a general sort of butterflies-in-the-stomach queasiness, the kind that makes your heart beat faster and your head tingle. The kind that you think you'll grow out of after being in so many elementary school plays, but you never do. 

I looked down at my feet as I walked down the corridor. I was wearing bright blue sneakers that had seemed very cool back home. Now, they just stood out among hundreds of functional black Starfleet-issue boots. The laces were frayed; I'd been meaning to buy new ones the afternoon I left. I wished that I'd thought to change into my more practical white Reeboks.

As my shoe pondering came to an end, I found myself confronted with the turbolift door. I walked towards it. The doors opened. I entered the lift. "Bridge," I said. My voice was slightly shaky. The doors closed and a barely perceivable motion told me I was moving. 

After a second of staring mindlessly into space, I forced myself into introspection. Why was I so nervous? It was just Captain Janeway; I'd spoken with her yesterday. And yet-she was _Captain Janeway_, a sort of unreal, god-like Athena/Queen Elizabeth/Joan of Arc figure. Yesterday, I had been too much in a state of shock to realize I was talking to a living legend who I had always sort of considered a hero in spite of:

(a) my aversion to the her slightly obsessive, slightly misanthropic, often going-down-with-the-ship tendencies (sure, The Powers That Be always saved her, but *she* didn't know that), and 

(b) my role as priestess of the Sacred Temple of Unresolved Relationships, which made me a big fan of anything Buffy-and-Angel-ish, Dawson-and-Joey-ish, Janeway-and-Chakotay-ish. Although I could understand why the latter had never happened, and even almost admired Janeway's sense of duty and commitment to her mission, I was still a sucker for UST (unresolved sexual tension). I often found myself mentally screaming at the television (or, in the case of Resolutions, Shattered, and Scorpion, quite literally screaming), wondering what the hell they were waiting for. 

But, as I said, even though Janeway had her annoying moments and depressing seasons (think the entirety of Season 5), she was pretty darn cool. With her leadership, she had gotten about 150 people decades closer to home. So yes, I was nervous. I didn't particularly want to make a fool of myself. I wanted her respect and approval. That made sense.

As I was thinking of this and fiddling with my gold cross necklace, the doors slid open.

Wasn't there a scene in Next Generation when Wesley first goes on the bridge and there's this perfect moment, as Wesley looks around in awe, with close-ups on each officer, and all the Trekkies watching at home are thinking, "I know exactly how he feels?" 

It wasn't quite like that for me, mostly because I was sort of dizzy and kept thinking, "I am on the bridge, wow," and couldn't particularly concentrate. This lasted for a few split seconds before I got a grip and stepped out of the turbolift, quietly taking in the viewscreen and the officers and the bright displays and the Captain's Chair. 

Chakotay was in the Chair. He and his tattoo were looking distinctively wilderness today. Harry was standing at Ops and a Nameless Ensign was at the helm. Other unknowns were pressing buttons at the stations in back. One of them was Gerron. He saw me and smiled at me. I smiled back. I wanted to faint.

I started walking to the ready room door and proceeded to have a sudden burst of clumsiness by tripping over the stairs and stumbling-but not falling-all the way to the captain's ready room. Finally, I got my balance and pressed the door chime. 

"Enter," I heard her say.

__

Well, here it goes.

I walked forwards, and the door slid open. There was the Captain, sitting at her desk, drinking, of course, coffee.

"Hello, Megan," she greeted me as I walked inside. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it for breakfast. We had a minor problem down in engineering. Would you like something to drink?"

"Green tea?" I asked. Drink... that most likely indicated that this would be a long conversation.

She stood up and walked to the replicator. "Green tea," she ordered in a commanding voice. The tea shimmered into being, a miracle of technology that made me blink. I had managed to spend a whole day on Voyager without seeing a single replicator in use. She then handed the tea to me, in its functional, shiny silver mug. We sat down on opposite sides of her desk. My curiosity got the best of me, and I began to examine the objects on top of the desk. A 24th century laptop, with a picture of the senior crew at one of the Hawaiian bashes on the holodeck. A stack of PADDs. A coffee thermos. A tall metallic vase, containing three deep pink tulips. On the counter behind her, I saw more miscellaneous items: 

an old-fashioned microscope

a few artifact-y things, including the bronze head of an important-looking ancient guy

a couple of books, including a gigantic hardcover version of _Moby Dick_

a tea cup, (which was lucky, if I remembered correctly from _Year of Hell_), with coordinating teapot

a picture of the senior crew in the mess hall

an old, framed photograph of what looked like Shannon O'Donnell & Family (from _11:59_)

a tennis ball

a picture of her dog... ooh, i liked that, ditch the Mark pictures but keep the dog

a small, unidentifiable plant with white flowers

The last item that I spotted made me smile. A gold pocket watch. So he _had_ given it to her in spite of the Year of Hell never happening. This discovery triggered a surge of J/C-happy joy. Yeah, I know, I'm a sap. 

Janeway sipped down some coffee (she actually does sip, there are none of those disgusting, un-captainly gulping noises associated with the process) and then took something out of her desk drawer-a commbadge. With a smile, she handed it to me and motioned to pin it on. I did, poking my finger with it a half-dozen times in the process. 

"I suppose that you know how to use it," she began, folding her hands on the table in a way that reconfirmed my suspicions that this was going to be a _long_ meeting, "but I'm giving you the lecture anyway, for protocol's sake. This commbadge will allow you to communicate with anyone else wearing one. To contact them, say "Quincy, or Megan, if you prefer, to whoever it is you wish to speak with. Other than that, I can only suggest that you not contact anyone past midnight unless it's an emergency or they're on the nightshift." She made a face, as if recalling unpleasant memories. "Commbadges are useful tools, but they're annoying as hell when you're trying to sleep."

I nodded. Having been woken up my share by younger siblings, I could appreciate this. "Thank you, Captain."

"You're welcome. Oh, and there's this." She handed me a PADD from the stack on her table. I glanced at it and saw that it was the Starfleet manual. "As you'll most likely be staying with us for quite some time, I suggest that you acquaint yourself with this manual thoroughly. It contains all of Starfleet's protocol and guidelines, all of which are strictly followed on this ship. If you have any questions, I'm here, as is Seven, Tuvok, and Commander Chakotay. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Good." A thoughtful look suddenly crossed her face. She stared at the stack of PADDs on her desk for a long time. Finally, she looked up and spoke. "I'll tell you what," she said in a bright but tired voice. "If I don't get away from these reports, I'm liable to go crazy. I was originally going to have Commander Tuvok take you on a tour of the ship, so you can become more familiar with it, but I think that I'll go with you instead."

"That would be great!" I exclaimed. Only afterwards did I realize this was unusual Janeway behavior. Though Janeway wasn't always the complete workaholic that fanfic made her out to be, she _did _tend to work long hours. But hey, who was I to argue with generosity? Besides, Janeway deserved a break.

***

"Welcome to Engineering," B'Elanna Torres said cheerfully. I blinked. Cheerful and half-Klingon were two words that I had never thought to associate with one another. I then noticed her softly rounding belly, and wondered if her pregnancy had actually improved her demeanor. 

As I had walked in, I realized one thing: engineering was _big_. Two floors, the first containing the warp core and a million little important stations around it, the second built around the warp core, with a balcony low enough so that evil Seska-conspirators could be thrown over it during fist fights. The warp core looked like something from Disney World, full of churning blue stuff that was obviously... actually, I didn't know what the blue stuff was. Dilithium? The matter-antimatter reaction? When it comes to the more technical parts of technobabble, I kind of suck.

"I was wondering if you could show Miss Quincy around, if you're not too busy," Janeway said diplomatically. 

"I think I could spare a few minutes," Torres answered, placing down a complicated little silver device with a relieved look on her face. "I was just about to inspect the plasma manifolds, but they can definitely wait. What would you like to see first?"

I shrugged. "I'm pretty much illiterate when it comes to 24th century technology."

"Why don't we take a look at those shield improvements you've been working on?" the Captain suggested. "I'd love to see how you're doing."

B'Elanna made a face, clearly in an awkward position. "I'm only in the beginning stages, Captain. I've gotten the basic structure down, but I'm actually not sure how to proceed from there."

Janeway smiled at her knowingly. "I understand. Still, I'm sure Megan would like to see your new designs. They're quite innovative."

Torres sighed, clearly realizing there was no way out now. "Sure, why not. It's over here." She led us to one of the workstations and turned it on. "See, here's our shields now," she explained to me, pointing to blue lines around a display of Voyager. I had the idea that if I reversed half of the charges on the particles-"

"It would act like a zipper," I interrupted, "and stop nearly anything from penetrating the shields."

Torres looked at me, mouth half-opened in surprise, half-smiling. "And you're technology illiterate?" she asked, amused.

I shrugged, feeling my cheeks turn slightly red. "We studied shields today in physics. I guess it was fresh in my mind."

She shook her head. "Captain, I think you've got another Icheb here. You may be from the twenty-first century, but you're quicker than a lot of my engineers. No offense, Redding," she told an ensign working at a nearby station.

Redding, a petite Asian woman, chuckled. "Hey, I know you value our services, Lieutenant. We're a team, right? All those hours spent scrubbing manifolds together...."

"Watch it, Ensign," B'Elanna threw back good-naturedly, "Or you'll go back to scrubbing manifolds."

As I stared at the shield schematics, another idea came into my mind. "Lieutenant Torres, I just had an idea. If you use a... a tachyon pulse, I think you could reverse these charges. It's kind of hard to explain."

Torres motioned to the display. "Why don't you try it out on here while I take a look at the manifolds. Everything's backed up, so you do whatever you want. If you want to revert to this schematic, just press the blue button in the left-hand corner. All right?" 

"Sure," I said, already pressing buttons. I'd learned some basics today from Seven, and knew what most of the controls meant. "Thank you."

"No problem. Oh, and Captain," she added as she picked up the silver thingy, "if you see Tom, can you tell him to meet me at the mess hall after his shift in sickbay ends? I don't want to interrupt him right now."

"Of course, B'Elanna. Thank you for your time."

Just as B'Elanna was about to leave, the computer's voice came on line. "Warp core ejection in progress. One minute until ejection."

"What the hell!" I heard B'Elanna scream, rushing back to the warp core. I looked down and saw the message blinking on my screen, and it suddenly occurred to me what had happened: I'd pressed a wrong button. 

The Captain ran over to help B'Elanna, leaving me to deal with my complete failure as a human being on my own. "Is it going to be okay?" I asked meekly. 

Silence, except for Janeway and Torres discussing what to do and the computer's frequent messages. "Fifteen seconds left!"

Just as the lights on the core were dimming, Torres yelled, "Got it!" The lights returned to normal. The messages stopped. Torres looked worried, breathing deeply, her hand unconsciously resting against her abdomen. Janeway looked a bit angry, hands on hips, eyes a violent shade of blue. Both looked extremely annoyed. Whether their annoyance was directed at me, I couldn't tell.

"What happened?" Janeway asked, giving me a mild Look.

"It wasn't her fault," Torres jumped in. "I had that workstation hooked up to the warp core this morning. I guess I overrode one too many safeties. I'm sorry, Captain."

"It's my fault too," I said softly. Both looked at me in surprise. "I shouldn't have been using that workstation," I explained. "I don't have a good handle on the controls. I could have blown up the ship."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Torres said with a smile. "Everything's all right now, and that's what counts, more or less."

Meanwhile, Janeway was staring at me with this very concentrated, very thoughtful look. What did she think? That I had pressed the button on purpose? That I was some alien spy? She had every right to suspect me. My being here _was_ pretty suspicious. Was that why she'd gone with me? To make sure with her own eyes that I wasn't lying?

Finally, her look softened: going from steel to, say, hardwood. "Well," she said in a tone that I could only describe as nostalgic, "congratulations. You've just made a mistake in front of your captain. It's part of living on board a Starfleet ship. You'll get used to it." She turned to Torres. "I think we've had enough of Engineering for today. Thank you again."

"Anytime. Nice to meet you, Megan, even if you did nearly shut down the warp core." 

"You too." My voice came out unusually flat, as if I'd just been at a funeral or something. God, I'd really messed up this time. I took one last glance at the horrible station that had gotten me into this mess, and then followed the Captain to the corridor, towards Airponics. 

There are some times when you wish you could fall off the face of the Earth. Right now, all I wished was the opposite, that I could fall back to Earth. Fall back asleep and wake up and find this all a dream, although a dream more real than reality itself.

***

I used to think that I was the sort of person who didn't mope. But then again, I used to think a lot of things that turned out not to be true. Like alternate universes didn't exist, and the government wasn't completely evil, and the world more-or-less made sense. I had never been more wrong.

Dinner was spent verbally slapping myself upside the head for nearly ejecting the core. Harry and Wendy Jenkins tried to cheer me up and convince me that a few wrong buttons didn't mean the end of the world as we know it. I thanked them profusely for the encouragement, but nothing could change the fact that I had screwed up big time.

I stumbled into my quarters around 7:30-excuse me, 19:30-but I was both mentally and physically exhausted. I wanted to collapse on my bed and curl up in a ball and fall asleep. At home.

I missed my family. This was the first time all day I'd had a chance to really think about it. Okay, so we were always squabbling about toothpaste or allowance or whatever. But we were a good family. We weren't Martha Stewart spawn, nor did we have a million unresolved issues either. We even (gasp!) loved each other. I missed them. A lot. I missed my mom's smile, and the dinner routine of, "What did you do at school today?" I missed my dad humming the Beatles while he made stir-fry and his ugly ties. I missed the sounds of Anna and Tony, my little sister and brother, arguing over nothing. I missed Anna stealing my hair stuff and makeup. Hell, I even missed Alaric, our stupid, boring box turtle.

I wondered what they were doing right now, although "right now" means nothing when talking about time travel. 

__

Eating dinner, I thought. _And Mom asks, "What did you do in school today?" Except they'll be worried to death about me and think I'm dead or I ran away. And it's all damn Roschland's fault. Or maybe my fault. Whose idea was this, anyway?_

It was a moment of perfect despair, me standing in the middle of my ugly quarters, staring out at the universe. _We could fly to the edge of the universe, and I will still not get home_. _Why are you doing this to me, God?_

At this point, my rational side piped in, reminding me that the government that had sent me here wasn't God's idea at all. It was really everyone's fault. All because we had to have a damn fruit, really. Because we wanted to be miniature gods. Well, we got our wish, and look how crappy everything had turned out.

I sat down on my bed, a more comfortable position to continue my moping: and sat on something. I got up, and saw a well-camouflaged gray package sitting on the bed. It was small, flat, and more or less rectangular.

I carefully opened it, only to find a gray box, this time with a small piece of white paper attached.

In messy print it read, "I thought you might like this. Welcome to our collective. From Icheb"

I smiled. Perhaps the first real smile all day. I placed the note on the nightstand and opened the box. Inside was a....

Discman?

Yes, a Discman. I shiny silver Discman circa 2001, with headphones and batteries and lots of buttons. I have never seen such a beautiful machine in all my life. I took it out of the box. Underneath was an REM CD. My REM CD, for all intents and purposes. A perfect replica, with the fragile plastic casing and gray "AUTOMATIC FOR THE PEOPLE" cover.

I sort of felt like crying, but chose not to. Instead I opened the Discman, put the CD in, turned it on, put on the headphones, and went back to my bed. I went to track four. The music was brilliant. The message was clear.

"...If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone  
If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,   
when you think you've had too much of this life to hang on.  
Well, everybody hurts sometimes,   
everybody cries. And everybody hurts sometimes.   
And everybody hurts sometimes. So, hold on, hold on..."

It was a funny kind of bliss as I lay there, sprawled out on my bed, singing REM lyrics quietly to myself somewhat off-tune. As I sang, I watched the stars go by, realizing that, somehow, that we were going to make it. Voyager was going to get home... and so was I.   


**like it? hate it? tell me: review! (but constructive criticism only, please. no one wants to hear that their story sucked and not know why!) **

   [1]: http://www.treknews.com/deltablues/endgame2.html
   [2]: http://www.fanfiction.net/index.fic/index.fic?action=story-read&storyid=293212



	5. Revelation

Disclaimer:

**Disclaimer: **I don't own it. If I did, I'd be a heckuva lot richer than I am now.  
**Summary:** Sunday on Voyager is full of strange revelations, shoreleave excitement, and frightening prophecies that leave Megan wondering about her future-and the future of Earth itself.  
**Timeframe: **Season 7, canon w/ everything before Human Error. My reasons for this are simple: J/C good, C/7 bad. Okay?  
Rating: PG-13 for language. J/C references.

**The Misadventures of Megan Quincy**  
_Chapter 5: Revelation_  
  
**by galadriel**  
  
There is only the fight to recover what has been lost  
And found and lost again and again: and now, under conditions  
That seem unpropitious. But perhaps neither gain nor loss.  
For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business.  
**T. S. Eliot, "Four Quartets"**

There is a misery sweeping through our veins. An eternal and unconquerable anguish. Each morning is filled with the sounds of hollow laughter and stars rushing by. We plod through the day, weary, sick with the knowledge that we can never go home again. Our eyes are strained. Our muscles are atrophied. Any trace of ambition that we have retained is lost as soon as our minds return to the situation at hand, the darkness captured in our synapses, triggering pain each time we dare to let emotion flow. There are moments of light; brief air pockets that lift us above the deep, earthy expanse, but they are only shadows of illustrations of the life we thought we once knew. For the most part, there is the abyss, the everyday unending sorrow that becomes all-past, future, and present.   
  
Then, one morning, it was gone. I woke up, walked to the bathroom, and was in the process of brushing my teeth before I noticed that something was different. Something was missing. I was-and there is no better way of putting it-happy like I had not felt in weeks. There had been the first few days of shock, in which I was too confused and in denial to realize the implications of what had happened. Then the deluge-a week of constant grief spent trying to come to terms with my misfortune. I had not been successful, and even at school with Naomi and Icheb and during cheerful conversations with Harry, Lotty, and the rest of their friends, I was thinking about home. What is Mom doing right now, I was supposed to go to the movies with Kate and Lucy tonight, Anna never gave back the necklace she borrowed from me, I promised Zach I'd help him study for the algebra test. I will never see any of them ever again.  
  
That was still there, in part, but more prevalent were thoughts of my approaching day-the comparative humanoid physiology report that was due tomorrow, lunch at the Wildmans', and an invitation from Wendy Jenkins to go hiking on the holodeck. The pain was muted so that I could ignore it, or at least look at it more logically.   
  
Now I was faced with a different kind of emptiness. I was happy again-but why? Had I learned to adjust to Voyager, to attune myself to her electric ambiance and light-speed pace? How could I bear to be happy after all that had passed, all that I'd left behind? I almost wanted to be miserable again, out of some kind of righteous indignation. But I wasn't, and I couldn't be. Although I felt like I was betraying everyone back home by not missing them every single second of the day, there was a point when I needed to start to let go. Not all at once, but little by little, until they were memories that could not hurt me unless I let them.   
  
As I pulled my tee shirt over my head, I asked the computer what time it was; I hadn't put on my watch yet.  
  
"9:56 hours," the computer replied in its crisp, mechanical voice. I groaned. It was my day off, and I'd figured that sleeping in wouldn't hurt, since my internal chronometer usually woke me up around eight o'clock. Unfortunately, today my internal chronometer wasn't working. I had a kadis-kot game with Naomi at ten. This didn't leave much time for breakfast. Well, I'd have to improvise. After slipping on my sneakers, I went to the replicator and replicated a granola bar. I hated to waste rations, especially after using up the majority of this month's rations on a few odds and ends to liven up my room, but I still had a few rations left, and a granola bar hardly took any energy.   
  
I ate the granola bar in my room. It looked terribly childish to be eating in the hallways. Living on a ship with about 150 adults and only two children, I was trying to act as mature as possible in public. It was okay to kid around sometimes, but often it was not the time or place. No stupid jokes during serious conversations, even if they were bordering on the edge of ridiculous. A minimum of jesting during lessons. Don't get in the way of people on duty. Don't pretend to understand things that you have no clue about. Don't participate in conversations that are way over your head unless it's to ask a question. Ask questions sparingly. I had a plethora of rules that I more or less followed; they were my only hope to being respected on Voyager.  
  
The calendar on the wall caught my glance. I had replicated it when I realized that there was no other way to keep track of the date without constantly asking the computer, "What is the date in standard Earth calendar form?" A calendar was much simpler than repeating this command every time I wanted to know the date. I could learn stardates, but from what I'd seen of them, they were way too complex. Even if I learned them, they would never really mean anything.  
  
Today was Sunday. Sunday, April 15, 2377. It was January back home, but who could tell the difference? There was no sign of the seasons on Voyager, no sign of what hour it was for that matter. There were duty shifts around the clock, although only skeleton shifts at "night", and these placed so that the night shift-ers could have somewhat regular sleep patterns. I wished that there was some time reference other than the ship's chronometer-a budding tree, a moonlit sky. Time seemed so meaningless on Voyager.   
  
I wondered at my free day being Sunday. Was it coincidence, or a vestige from the Christian dominated societies of the past? Probably the latter; and maybe vestige wasn't the right word-while researching for a history report, I'd discovered that nearly 40% of humans still professed a Judeo-Christian religion, that is, Christianity, Judaism, or Islam. There was even a new Judaic religious movement that was trying to unite the religions of different species. "The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of the Klingons, Bajorans, and Vulcans," they proudly professed. They'd already written religious doctrine showing how Kahless, the Prophets, and the god of a prominent Vulcan monotheistic religion were one and the same. Next, they were tackling the Trill deities. I wasn't sure what to make of it, whether to commend the movement or condemn it. Sure, it would make sense that God would make himself known to other species, but how could we know which alien religion was the true one? It seemed like dangerous business to me. Still, it was fascinating, the religious ideas that had been built, accepted, and rejected in the past 400 years. You'd never guess it from watching Star Trek, where the majority of the main characters were agnostic at best. Sure, there was Kira and her Prophets, Worf and his Klingon-ness, but for the most part, religion wasn't a big thing here.  
  
Another reason to feel alone, I thought, a wave of the old pain coming to the surface.  
  
"Naomi to Megan." I jumped at the sudden noise. Then realized it was my commbadge. I pressed the badge.  
  
"What is it, Naomi?"   
  
"It's 10 hundred hours! You're late for our game!" Naomi sounded annoyed.  
  
"I'll be there in a minute," I replied. "Quincy out." I insisted on using my last name over the comm. I wanted to be thought of as any other member of the crew, in spite of my age. But no one was catching on, certainly not Naomi.   
  
***  
  
  
"Pass the carrots, please," Icheb requested from across the table. He was always so polite. It annoyed me sometimes.   
  
"No problem," I said, handing him the bowl of steamed carrots. The porcelain was cool to the touch. I supposed that the combination of replicator technology and improved dishware produced such an effect.   
  
"How was your kadis-kot game?" Samantha Wildman asked us-Naomi, Icheb, and I being "us".   
  
"Good," Naomi replied, in spite of her mouth being full of half-grinded meatloaf. She swallowed, and her next words were much more intelligible. "Megan beat me in the third round. Then all of us played a tournament. Icheb won, of course."  
  
"What do you mean, of course?" Icheb's face was a mixture of embarrassment and attempted humility. He wasn't pulling it off very well. "I have been playing for several months. Once Megan has similar experience, she will no doubt beat us both."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Right. In addition, if I practice hard enough, someday I'll be able to solve quadratic equations as fast as a computer. It's not gonna happen."  
  
"I am not a computer."  
  
I saw the indignation in Icheb's eyes and realized my mistake. Who could blame him about being sensitive about his Borg roots? Being injected with nanoprobes and losing your individuality isn't exactly the most fun thing in the universe. Even worse, his enormously screwed-up parents had got him assimilated on purpose. "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't mean it that way."  
  
"I understand. Apology accepted." He took another bite of meatloaf, and then, in an attempt to change the subject, remarked, "Have you heard about the Lucira?"  
  
Everyone nodded except for me. Why was I always the last to hear about anything? It had been happening all week. Talk about the error that caused the computer to recite Prospero's last speech in The Tempest repeatedly for nearly a half-hour before the glitch was fixed, the alleged appearance of leprechauns on the Fair Haven program, and an amusing but completely untrue rumor that the Captain and the Commander had finally gotten together and were going to announce their engagement at the next ship-wide party, had come to me days late. I had actually slept through a minor skirmish with a small raiding ship two nights before and was incredibly confused when Naomi started talking about it the next morning.  
  
"Who are the Lucira?" I asked, wondering what sort of evil gremlins Voyager had run into this time.  
  
Sam explained. "This morning, we made contact with them. They control several solar systems in this sector, and their home planet is Lucira in the Merat system. Captain Janeway spoke with their ambassador, and they're interested in working with us to improve our warp systems. They haven't developed the technology that allows Voyager to go past warp five without polluting the space-time continuum, so we'll help them integrate it into their systems. In exchange, they'll share methods that will help us maintain high warp factors for extended periods of time."  
  
"I see." I'd completely forgotten about the warp-induced space-time pollution that showed up in some episode of Next Generation, and wondered how they'd managed to compensate for it.   
  
"How long will we be working with them?" asked Icheb.   
  
Sam shrugged. "At least two weeks, maybe more, depending on how compatible our systems are. For that time, anyone who's not involved in the project will have shoreleave on the planet."   
  
I grinned. Shoreleave! The prospect of getting away from Voyager cheered me. Not that I hated Voyager, but the gray decor and artificial light left something to be desired. "That's terrific. I can't wait to walk on a planet again. I didn't realize how much I loved sunlight until I came here."  
  
Sam smiled, but she didn't look particularly enthused. "Yes, I suppose it will be nice to get off of Voyager for a while, even if I will be working nonstop for the next two weeks. That reminds me, could you watch Naomi while we're down there?" Naomi made a face; she was at the age that she felt far too mature for a babysitter. "Neelix is going to be busy obtaining supplies," Sam continued, "so I didn't want to bother him. If you mind, I could ask someone else."  
  
"No, that's be fine," I assured her. "I'd love to." Naomi was a breeze to watch. Having grown up on a starship, she knew to stay out of trouble.   
  
"Thank you, Megan. Computer, what time is it?"  
  
"Twelve thirty-five," the computer reported.  
  
Sam sighed and collected our empty dishes, putting them in the replicator to be reabsorbed. "Back to engineering for me. Naomi, where will you be this afternoon?"  
  
"Neelix and I are going to the holodeck. He found a new program in the ship's database. It's based on some old novel... Ala in, something that ends with "land".  
  
I smiled. "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland?" I suggested.  
  
"Yeah, that's it. Is it good? Have you read it?"  
  
I nodded. "It's really good. I used to love that book when I was a kid." Alice in Wonderland... and I was Alice, trapped in a topsy-turvy world. It was an interesting metaphor and certainly accurate.   
  
"Thank you for lunch, Ensign Wildman," Icheb said as he handed her his plate to be reabsorbed by the replicator.  
  
"Yeah, thanks," I chimed in.  
  
"No problem. You both are welcome any time." She put the last of the dishware into the replicator and grabbed a couple PADDs off a nearby table. "I've got to get to engineering. Goodbye for now." She exited the room.  
  
"What are you guys doing this afternoon?" asked Naomi as we left the Wildmans' quarters.   
  
"I will be assisting Seven in astrometrics," Icheb informed her.   
  
"What about you, Megan?"  
  
I shrugged. "Wendy Jenkins invited me to go hiking with her and a few other people, but I think I'd rather curl up in my quarters with a good book."  
  
"Sounds fun," Naomi laughed.   
  
I stopped at my quarters. "Here's my quarters. Bye."  
  
Naomi said a cheerful goodbye and raced off to the turbolift, but Icheb paused at my door. "Megan, I must ask you something." He had an unusually grave look on his face.   
  
"What?" I asked, worried that he had some bad news.   
  
"I will not be involved with the project in Lucira. I wanted to know if I could accompany Naomi and you on the planet."  
  
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. "Of course you can! Don't be so serious about things; you scared me."  
  
Icheb managed to smile slightly. "I will remember that. Thank you. I should be going to astrometrics."  
  
"See you, Icheb," I shouted after him as he walked down the hallway.  
  
He looked back at me and smiled. "See you, Megan." The colloquial phrase sounded funny contrasted to his usual formality. I smiled and rolled my eyes. That boy is strange, I thought. Still, he was good company. My older friends-Harry, Lotty, Wendy, and the rest-were likable, but I always felt out of place, being younger. It was nice to have someone my own age to spend time with.  
  
***  
  
I was behind in my journal. I've always made a point of writing in it every night, but I'd been so busy this past week that I hadn't kept it up. This was a first time occurrence, and now I was trying to catch up to the events of today. Until now, journal entries had often been dull and served little purpose besides taking out my anger on paper and leaving records for posterity. Suddenly, my journal had become very, very interesting. They reminded me distinctly of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court-make that "A New Jersey Teenager on Janeway's Ship", or something along those lines.   
  
I had just gotten to the funnier details of my first dinner with Sam, Naomi, and Icheb, involving grated carrots, bad jokes, and a song I'd made up last year to memorize the cranial nerves of the body-Olive Oil Or Tossed Turnips, Angel Found A Violent April Hurricane!-when the door chime sounded unexpectedly.  
  
I closed the journal, a small pastel blue book with "Megan" embossed in gold, and placed it on the table by my bed. "Who is it?" I called.  
  
"It's Lotty Emmanuel," a voice shouted hoarsely. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Sure. It's open."  
  
The doors swished open and Lotty entered my quarters. She looked like she had woken about five minutes ago. Her eyes were half-open and bloodshot, her mouth twisted into a queasy frown. Her dark hair was sticking up erratically. She wore a wrinkled uniform minus jacket that looked like it had been thrown on in a hurry. Of course, I didn't look much better-I was wearing my ridiculous turtle pajamas, my toenails painted various colors, hair twisted into tiny and unsightly braids designed to crimp it during the night.  
  
"Nice place you've got here," she commented in an unsteady voice. "We lowly crewmen have quarters the size of storage lockers." Admittedly, my quarters had improved over the last week. I'd replicated a huge painting of a lily by Georgia O'Keeffe, as well as the aforementioned calendar, which featured photographs of the Maine coastline. A purple chenille blanket folded on top of the sofa lent some color to the gray decor, as did a vase of yellow flowers that Neelix had brought from airponics a couple days ago.  
  
"Thanks. What are you doing here? It has to be at least midnight."  
  
Lotty bit her lip. "Well, first of all, I was wondering why you didn't come on the hike this afternoon. We had a lot of fun. Clement almost fell of the mountain."   
  
I gave her a doubtful look. "I wasn't in a hiking mood. Sorry I didn't let you guys know. But it's kind of late to be wondering where I was. Is that all?"  
  
She sighed. "It's complicated. This is going to take a while, can I sit down?"  
  
"Sure," I replied, motioning to the couch. She sat down, and I curled up in a nearby armchair.  
  
"This is going to sound crazy," she began, "but I swear that I'm telling the truth. Remember dinner yesterday, when Harry and Isaac were complaining about the food as always, and Harry said that I should have predicted how bad Neelix's soup was?"  
  
I nodded. Their comment had seemed more than a little odd to me, but I hadn't said anything.   
  
"There was a reason that they said that." She paused, took a deep breath, and blurted out, "Megan, I see things. In dreams."  
  
I stared at her, having major Sixth Sense flashbacks. "What?"  
  
"I have a gift, okay? I know things about people and past events. It's very erratic, but when it does come, it's usually in the form of dreams, or visions."  
  
I raised an eyebrow. "You're psychic." I wanted to laugh. I had a very strong opinion about that sort of thing, and it was this-it was all completely fake, an excuse for people to make money off of other people's stupidity and superstition.  
  
Lotty could see I was skeptical. "I know this sounds completely impossible, but bear with me. Please."  
  
The look on Lotty's face was quite serious, so I tried to push all my preconceptions away and breathed, "Fine, go on."  
  
"Tonight, I had a dream about your Earth. I didn't want to tell you, but I talked to Wendy about it and she thought that you should know."  
  
That was it. "How do you know it was my Earth?" I exclaimed.  
  
"I just knew! That's the way it works! If you'd listen, you'd believe me."  
  
"Okay, okay." I pulled my knees up to my chin and rested my head on them.  
  
Lotty suddenly sniffed, her eyes watering up. "Listen, I don't have to tell you this, not if you don't want to know. It's... really serious."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Just tell me, okay?"  
  
"My dream involved a man named Ivan Micheltsikof. Do you know who he is?"  
  
I did, and so did everybody else in the US in my time. Micheltsikof, the commander of the Russian armed forces. Micheltsikof, the great Communist leader. Micheltsikof, the hero of the Russian people. Micheltsikof, quite possibly the devil himself.  
  
"Yes," I murmured. "He's a Russian commander... or was. When I left, he was organizing an alliance with China. Well, technically the president of Russia was, but Micheltsikof's the one actually in control. They're sharing nuclear technology. He's only involved in the armed forces now, but he's running for president next election. He has enormous public support; it will be a miracle if he doesn't win." I paused. The next words that came out of my mouth were shaky. "He wants Russia to revert to Communism and unite with China, possibly even under one political leadership. The current Chinese leaders are under his thumb; they'd join him in a heartbeat. The UN will probably forbid an actual merger of the two countries, but that doesn't mean Micheltsikof won't do it anyway. It would completely screw up the balance of power, especially if the Russian economy improves. God knows what would happen then."  
  
Lotty closed her eyes as if praying. After a few moments, she opened them again and spoke. "Meg," she said, "a few months after you left, there was a revolt led by Micheltsikof and his followers. They overthrew the Russian government and killed the president and his supporters in legislature. Russia was officially declared a Communist state, with Micheltsikof as its leader. A week later, they attacked the US."  
  
I stared at her in utter disbelief. "That's ridiculous!"  
  
"I promise you," Lotty said slowly but sternly, "I am not lying. Please believe me."  
  
"Why should I?" I shouted, throwing my hands up into the air. My head was spinning with fury. "This is nuts."  
  
Lotty's pale blue eyes gleamed as she softly said, "So, you watched us on TV, right?"  
  
I nodded. "What does that have to do with anything."  
  
"Then you'll recognize this phrase. The Year of Hell."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "I am a fan, you know. Kes witnessed part of the Year of Hell and told you guys. What's your point?"  
  
She shook her head. "Kes witnessed an alternate version of the Year of Hell, and a small portion of it at that. But I remember the real version, and I remember all of it." Her voice was strained. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. She made no effort to wipe it from her face. "The Krenim attacks, the ship going to hell, Commander Tuvok's blindness... hell, I remember the Captain and the Commander fighting over some watch he'd replicated for her birthday, and I wasn't even there." Her voice went down to a whisper. "I died," she said, softly, weakly, honestly. "In one of the attacks. And yet, when it was all over and things were set back to normal, all of the memories came rushing towards me. Memories that weren't even mine. And there's a hell of a lot more where that came from. It's never very useful information, just irrelevant and frightening."  
  
As she spoke, my eyes widened, and my hands returned to my sides. There was a long silence, which I broke with the shaky words, "Where did they attack?"  
  
Lotty frowned. "The sick bastards bombed Pearl Harbor."  
  
I stared at her in horror. "You're kidding. That's disgusting."  
  
"It was Micheltsikof's way of proving his power, although it also proved how twisted he is. There was no tactical advantage, but it sure pissed the American people off. The Japanese, who were with the US and Europe this time, were also angry as hell. It's like saying, you're going to have to nuke us before we back down. Except, in this case, everyone's worrying that he'll nuke them first." I noticed that she was lapsing into the present tense, as if the event had just happened. "He's not stupid, and he's not going to do it unless he thinks he has to, but we're talking about a genuine power-hungry madman here. He'll do anything to stay in power. The journalists are already calling it World War Three." She shook her head. "Spirits, it's like the Cold War again, but this time there's going to be combat. It's unavoidable. I must say, I'm afraid for your Earth."  
  
I remembered to exhale, then heard myself say, "I guess I'm glad you told me." I questioned the validity of this statement immediately after I said it.  
  
She shrugged. "I didn't want to, but Wendy thought I should. She was right. I would be protecting you like a little kid if I didn't tell you the truth. That wouldn't be fair." She stood up. "Good night, Megan. Gods bless."  
  
I tried to smile. It didn't work. "Night," I said. Thought about her words. "Do you believe in God?"  
  
"Many. I practice Shinto." At first I thought she was joking, but her voice was serious.  
  
"But isn't Shinto Japanese?"  
  
She shrugged. "Details. I come from a long line of Vietnamese Buddhists. They were refugees in Japan during the Vietnam War, where they picked up Shinto and dropped the Buddhism. They proceeded to go to Europe and intermarry with a horde of Orthodox Christian Russians and atheist Italians, some of them with Jewish ancestry, until the Vietnamese bloodline wore thin. Lucky me, I got a mixture of Italian and Russian features, a Hebrew last name that has a bizarre story of its own, and a Japanese religion. Go figure." She grinned. "Go to sleep. Talk in the morning, right?"   
  
"Okay," I replied. "Good night."  
  
After she left, I went to bed. I was in no mood to finish my journal. I couldn't stop thinking about what Lotty had told me, of the implications of her message. They'll be okay, I justified. The war will be fought in Asia mostly, if there is a war at all. You don't know yet. Dad's in industry, so even if he is drafted it won't be as a soldier. Don't worry.  
  
I took a deep breath. I was tired and craved sleep, departure from all this. Here I was again, a week later, searching for a peace of mind. Funny, that as soon as I was feeling less fragile, there was one more crisis to bring me to my knees. That was the way it always went, right? Problems came and went, empires rose and fell, and peace was a word reserved for the minutes and hours in between.   
  
In the midst of all of this, I thought of Zach Hudson. Could the human mind be any more random? Zach Hudson at a time like this? It made sense, in a convoluted sort of way. Zach always cheered me up during times like these-although, back home, "times likes these" indicated no worse than a failed history test or an argument with my parents. Little things that had seemed so impossible, and Zach had been with me through them all. He was perpetually kind and understanding, and we'd been friends for years.   
  
And, yes, I liked him. For the past two months, I'd been secretly harboring a large and unwieldy crush. While he was well aware that practically everyone at school wanted us to get together-our chemistry teacher made jokes about it, for God's sake-he was blind to the fact that all of it was rooted in me. I didn't tell him, of course. We were friends. It would be weird.  
  
My God, why hadn't I told him? For all I knew, he did like me back, and I had missed out on a wonderful relationship with a great guy. I certainly hadn't gained from doing nothing and letting it play out like a bad episode of Dawson's Creek. With the clarity of hindsight, I saw so many regrets. I could have done so much more-told my family that I loved them, finished the letter I had been meaning to send to my old elementary school friend who'd moved to Seattle, gone to the movies with my best friends on Sunday instead of finishing some goddamned French project that I would never get a grade for. I would never see any of them again. For God's sake, there was going to be a war. I shivered as I thought, who knows what might happen then.  
  
If I ever see Zach again, I'll tell him. It was a stupid promise, but I meant it. I am going to tell him. Maybe we'll go out, maybe we won't. And if we do, we'll probably break up within months, because we're normal teenagers. I bet we'll have some stupid fight over nothing, and the next day I'll tell him that we should probably end it now, before it gets bad. I'll pretend to believe this is the right choice, and he'll pretend to agree. That night, all my friends will come over for a sleepover; we'll mope and paint our toenails and eat ice cream out of the container and talk about what pigs men are. We will laugh and cry and graduate from high school and go out into the world, and we will live. And I will have my life back.  
  
But it wasn't that simple; there were still the seconds and minutes, the unending revelation of reality, cutting each second of bliss a half-second short. I was still on Voyager, there was still no way for me to get home, and I still liked Zach and missed my family and friends like crazy.  
  
Maybe, I thought, I could deal with that. The story of Pandora's Box came to mind. All the evils of the world escaped when she opened the Box, but Pandora closed it soon enough to entrap hope. I possessed this hope, an absurd, beautiful state of mind that believed, prayed, knew that the state of things must improve. Now, the box was shut. No one, not Roschland or Lotty or Micheltsikof himself, could take that from me.  


**Review, please!**


	6. Eternity in an Hour

**Disclaimer: **Paramount owns Voyager, its crew, and Lotty's and Isaac's last names. I own Lucira, its people, Megan, and Micheltsikof. JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter series. William Blake has been dead long enough that it doesn't matter. So there.  
**Summary: **Shoreleave on Lucira promises to be an interesting experience for Megan and the gang....   
**Timeframe:** Season 7, canon w/ everything before Human Error. My reasons for this are simple: J/C good, C/7 bad. Okay?  
**Rating:** G! 

**The Misadventures of Megan Quincy**

_Chapter 6: Eternity in an Hour_

**by galadriel**

Wendy Jenkins had gorgeous hair. It was a brilliant golden color, reminiscent of Goldilocks' curls and Rapunzel's long tresses, the chin-length strands shimmering as light hit it at different angles. I was incredibly envious of it, seeing that my hair was dull brown and bone straight. Over the years I had tried to remedy this problem in various ways, but a perm left it frizzy and an auburn dye gave it a distinctively orange tint. Eventually, I gave up and left my hair alone, content with adding the occasional purple or blue streaks, but I still dreamed of having hair like Wendy's. I thought I deserved at least something about my body that I liked. All I had right now was nice eyebrows and a gradually improving figure.   
  
These minor attributes did not console me as I spotted Wendy's hair from across the mess hall. She was sitting by the window, mulling over a PADD and a cup of coffee. I grabbed a cup of half-decent fruit juice and went to sit down with her.  
  
"Hey, mind some company?" I asked as I approached her table.  
  
Wendy looked up at me with pale blue eyes, another asset of hers. "Oh, hi, Meg," she greeted in her pleasant, musical voice, putting down her coffee. "Sit down, please."  
  
I nodded and sat across from her. "Why aren't you down on the planet?" I asked. The mess hall was nearly empty, since the majority of the crew was either working or on shore leave.  
  
"I was there for a few hours this morning," she explained, "but I have night shift in a few minutes. I thought I'd relax and catch up on my reading before I have to spend six hours listening to Lieutenant Chapman ask for the ship's status every ten minutes. He's almost as bad as Harry."  
  
I smiled, remembering Harry's overthorough manner when he was on the night shift. "I see."  
  
"So," Wendy asked as I gulped down some fruit juice in a rather loud and rude manner that made her blink and frown, "You're not down there either?"  
  
I shook my head. "I had a lot of work to do tonight and I'm beat. I'm going down tomorrow with Naomi and Icheb." I saw Wendy stifling a grin. "What?" I asked, giving her a funny look.  
  
"Nothing," she insisted with a wave of her hand. "It's nothing." She deliberately looked away to the window, which revealed a spectacular view of a smallish blue-green planet below us. I somehow hadn't noticed it before, and seeing it now made my mouth open ever so slightly.  
  
"It's beautiful, isn't it," Wendy said softly. She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the planet with a contented look.  
  
I nodded silently. Finally, I found the words to speak. "I never imagined that I'd ever look out my window and see a planet. It's too unreal."  
  
She shrugged. "You get used to it, especially out here. They're all beautiful, but not like Earth. When we get back, you've got to see Earth, Megan. It's so amazing, so tiny and fragile, and yet so enormous and magnificent. It's like... poetry." She suddenly burst out in melodic laughter, laughter like bells chiming. "Wow. That sounded weird. I must be reading too much of this." She waved the PADD that she held in her hand.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"William Blake. He was an English poet from the early 19th century of Earth...."  
  
"I know who he is," I interrupted, rolling my eyes. "I did take freshman English class, you know. The Poison Tree and all that good stuff."  
  
Wendy nodded, not noticing the sarcasm in my words. "Well, listen to this. To see a World in a grain of sand, And a Heaven in a wild flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour."  
  
"Cool," I murmured. Tried to say more, but there were no words. It was beautiful poetry, although I wasn't altogether sure what William Blake was trying to say. Maybe that the smallest things can be significant, that you can find all the beauty of Heaven in a single rose or a small planet or a golden strand of Wendy Jenkin's hair. Something like that.  
  
"What are you reading?" Wendy asked in turn, motioning to my PADD.  
  
"Harry Potter," I muttered sheepishly. "The fifth one hadn't been published yet, so I figured I'd take advantage of the benefits of time travel and read it."  
  
"Harry Potter?"  
  
I nodded, and proceeded to give her a longwinded description of the Harry Potter series. "It's not as lame as it sounds," I finished. "Well, technically it's a kid's book, but lots of people read it. Even my history teacher read it... although maybe that's not saying much, since my history teacher is kind of strange. Well, it really is good." I suddenly felt a burning sense of uncoolness reminiscent of having barfed in front of everyone at Kelly Widman's ninth birthday, including a certain boy by the name of Tim Petrarch, whose name was written in my diary surrounded by little hearts. You get the picture.  
  
"Interesting," Wendy replied with a polite smile. Soon, the smile faded. "Hey... you know Lotty told me what happened. How are you doing?"  
  
I shrugged, as if it was no big deal. "I'm concerned, but I figure America has a few more years until it goes the way of Rome." Really, I was afraid, terrified even, but I couldn't tell Wendy that. "Maybe if they're lucky Micheltsikof will get run over by a bus or something." Wendy smiled at my feeble joke. "I just... I guess I hope that they're ok."  
  
"I'm sure they'll be fine." Wendy's voice was confident, but her eyes were fixed on the planet, sad and thoughtful. Her next words were slower, almost hesitant. "I suppose we're all the same, you and me and the rest of Voyager. Just a bunch of people who want to go home."  
  
"You have more of a chance of that than I do," I pointed out.  
  
"Maybe. Sometimes I'm not so sure." She motioned to Lucira. "Every time I see a planet like that, part of me wants to stay and live out the rest of my life in peace. But another part of me knows that it would never be home. Even if I did find something there, I'd always wonder, could we have made it? Could we have gotten home? So here I am."   
  
There was a contemplative pause, and then Wendy stood up abruptly, jolting us both back to reality. "I'd better get ready for my shift," she announced with an upside-down smile. "Wish me luck."  
  
"Lots. Good night."  
  
"Good night," she replied, and left me alone with Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and my own thoughts.  
  
My own thoughts were too dreary. I chose Harry Potter.  
  
***  
  
"Megan, hurry up!"  
  
I groaned inwardly. "Just a second, Naomi," I called, my voice resounding throughout my quarters. Then I returned to the impossible task of fixing my hair in a ponytail. I'd gotten my hair cut yesterday by the ship's mindless but talented holographic hairdresser, but the layers that she'd put in it made it difficult to put my hair up without tons of bobby pins. Leaving it down was not an option, since it was summer in Saren, the district we were visiting, and I didn't wish to overheat.  
  
After a long and trying battle, my hair won, and I consented to tying only the top half of my hair up. I hadn't worn my hair like this since maybe third grade, and I was sure the bottom would turn into a sweaty mess before the day was done.  
  
"All right, I'm coming," I said. I grabbed my wallet from the bathroom counter and shoved it in my back pocket. It contained a collection of Lucirian coins, small asterisk-shaped pieces made of blue or green stone. We'd obtained them from the local government in exchange for their worth in dilithium, so that the crew would have money for meals and such.  
  
Naomi was waiting in the main room, wearing a yellow tee shirt and blue pants the exact color of denim. Lately it seemed like she was dressing more and more like me, but maybe that was my imagination. "Are we going now?" she asked, uncrossing her arms.  
  
"Yes, yes," I replied. "My hair was being disagreeable, that's all. Let's go."  
  
As we walked towards the transporter room, which was on the opposite end of deck four, I asked, "What do you want to see today?"  
  
"There's a park in the city that sounds nice," Naomi said, a toothy grin on her face. In the past few days, all the talk about Lucira had finally gotten her excited. She was practically running down the corridor. "It's an entire biosphere enclosed in a force field, and the wildlife is allowed to go free, so they can come up to you. There's supposed to be beautiful flowers there too."  
  
"That sounds worth seeing," I agreed.   
  
Suddenly, two ensigns who I didn't recognize entered the corridor from an adjacent one. They smiled down at us with a mixture of amusement and disdain. I attempted to speed up and pass them, but Naomi was lagging behind, forcing me to slow my pace again. Trying to ignore them, I continued talking. "I'm probably going window shopping with Lotty, Isaac, Harry, and the Delaney sisters after lunch. You and Icheb don't have to come if you'd rather do something else."  
  
"It depends," Naomi said slowly, coming to a standstill. "What's window shopping?"  
  
I smiled. "We'll be browsing the stores, looking at the window displays as we pass. Assuming that they have window displays on Lucira, that is."  
  
"Oh, ok. I'll come." Naomi paused thoughtfully. Then she asked, "Megan, do you have a crush on Harry?"  
  
"What?" I exclaimed, turning a brilliant shade of red as the two nameless ensigns tried not to burst out in laughter. Only one succeeded; the other, a young woman who I suddenly recognized as being Ensign Redding from Engineering, burst out in a single high-pitched giggle before clamping her hand over her mouth.  
  
"No! No, of course not. What made you think that I did?"  
  
As I spoke, the two ensigns stopped at a door labeled "Phaser Maintenance" and went inside. I heard them whispering and laughing as the doors swished behind them. I suddenly remembered reading in some cheesy magazine that 90% of the times a girl thinks someone is talking about her behind her back are induced by paranoia only. I had a queasy feeling that this belonged to the other 10 percent.  
  
Naomi, oblivious to what had just passed, answered in a rational voice, "Because you're always spending time with him and talking with him."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "I spend time with lots of people. And I talk about him because I know a lot about him. That doesn't mean I like him."  
  
"Do you have a crush on anyone?" was the next question.  
  
I thought about this, and decided my minor infatuation with Gerron, who I rarely saw anyway, didn't count. "Yes. But he's not on Voyager."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Zach Hudson," I said, feeling happy and dizzy because the name invoked images of Zach, Zach at his locker, Zach smiling, Zach and I walking home from school together.... But I digress.  
  
Naomi giggled. "That's a weird name. Zach."  
  
I stared at her incredulously. "You know people named Icheb and Neelix, and you think that Zach is a funny name?"  
  
"Well, it is." Naomi began walking swiftly again, her long strawberry-blonde ponytail bobbing back and forth. I shook my head in wonder. She was downright giddy today. I tried to think why she was asking me all these questions in the first place. Then it occurred to me.  
  
"Naomi," I asked, "do you have a crush on somebody?"  
  
Naomi turned an even brighter shade of red than I had, if this was possible. After a long pause, she answered. "Kilik Frebres," she murmured, her eyes focused on the ground.  
  
"What?"  
  
She looked up at me, a small, shy smile on her face. "I-I kinda like Freddy Bristow. He used to watch me sometimes when Mom and Neelix were both on duty. He gave me this for my last birthday." She held up the small green cloth purse that was slung over her shoulder.  
  
"Freddy Bristow!" I summoned up all of my inner strength to not laugh, and somehow managed to keep a straight face. Freddy Bristow... the poor doting ensign who had a crush on Beltane in The Swarm... well, she had good taste, at least, he wasn't that bad looking and he was a pretty nice guy. I told her so.  
  
Naomi beamed. "Really? Mom thinks I'm too young to have a crush. But I am nine and a half, by human growth standards anyway. Hey, there's Icheb." I looked up, and there he was, standing by the transporter room door. He was holding a PADD and, surprisingly enough, had a smile on his face. Compared to his usual nondescript facial expressions, he was positively glowing.  
  
"Hello," he greeted as we approached. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go to the work site first. I have to give Seven this PADD."  
  
"That's fine," I replied. "Now come on, let's hurry. By the time we get down there, we'll have missed all the fun."  
  
Both Naomi and Icheb gave me their customary concerned looks.  
  
I sighed. "Never mind. Let's just go."  
  
  
The transporter ride was intimidating, to say the least. I had never been transported before, unless my mysterious appearance on Voyager counted, and the idea of my molecules being ripped apart and put back together again was rather daunting.  
  
Staring at the transporter pad for a few seconds, I finally gathered up the courage to step onto it.   
  
"Are you sure that this thing isn't going to scramble up my atoms," I whispered to Icheb, who was standing next to me. I hated to be such a Barclay, but my anxiety destroyed any scrap of sensibility that I'd possessed before.  
  
Icheb shook his head, amused. "It is extremely safe. Safer than the automobiles of your time."  
  
"I know, I know. I'm just being paranoid." I turned to the transporter chief. "OK, we're ready." Then shut my eyes tightly in order to brace myself for whatever was to come.  
  
A few seconds later, I opened my eyes again, expecting to find myself still in the transporter room, or, worse, in molecular limbo. Instead, I was standing in a small circular room tastefully decorated in blues and greens-the lobby of the Engineering Complex of Saren, I immediately realized. I was on Lucira. There had been a faint tingling sensation, now that I looked back on it, but nothing to alert me that I was being shredded into millions of pieces and then reassembled.  
  
"This way," Icheb instructed, leading us through a tall, narrow doorway. He had been on Lucira last night to research a report that he was writing about warp development in different cultures and knew his way around the Complex.   
  
After passing through a labyrinth of hallways that only an ex-Borg could navigate, we found ourselves in the lab where the Voyager crew was working. The Lucirians seemed to have a thing for strangely shaped rooms; this one was a large octagon with blue control panels around the perimeter. In the center was a small holographic projection chamber that was currently displaying a section of a warp core. A few Lucirians, identifiable by their sleeveless tunics and a long indentation running down their forehead, worked at the panels alongside officers from Voyager, but Seven was nowhere to be seen. As I looked up, I realized that the room was open to the outdoors, with an intense blue sky where the ceiling should be.  
  
"It's not open," a gentle, yet commanding voice explained.  
  
I looked in the direction that the voice was coming from, and saw a young woman standing beside me, looking up at the sky. "It's not open," she repeated. "There's a force field sealing off this chamber from the outside. The architect thought it would look nice. He considered leaving it open, but the complex has temperature control. Not to mention the problems that would arise when it rained." She turned her head towards us, her deep violet eyes smiling. "I'm Jensin, the Engineering director of Saren." She lifted her left hand and touched it to her shoulder-a greeting, I conjectured. "Welcome to the Complex."  
  
Jensin received three simultaneous greetings, names, and extended hands. "It's nice to meet you, Megan, Icheb, Naomi," she said, and then paused, looking at our hands quizzically.   
  
"Oh, yes," she exclaimed after a few seconds, and quickly shook each of our hands with a firm grip. "I'm sorry, I've never been good remembering alien customs." She smiled apologetically, and I realized that Jensin was perhaps the most exotic-looking person I'd ever seen. Everything about her was decidedly foreign, from her bright blue ankle-length robe to her wavy silver hair, of which she had reams. She was beautiful, but at the same time utterly alien, in more ways than one.  
  
"It's not a problem," Icheb replied courteously.   
  
"So," Jensin asked, "What brings you three here?"  
  
"I have some data...." Icheb began, but right on cue, Seven of Nine entered the room through the door behind us. She was talking with one of the Lucirian engineers, a tall, tan young man who was decent-looking, although his thick black hair was cut strangely, chin-length and uneven. Seven looked strange herself, although it took me a few seconds to realize why. Then it hit me-seven was smiling! It was a smile that would be unremarkable on anyone else, but on Seven, it was pure radiance; her eyes seemed larger than usual, shining brilliant blue. Her Lucirian friend was grinning as well; it was as they were laughing at an enormous, private joke that only the two of them were in on.  
  
Seven shifted into Efficient Mode as soon as she saw us. "Icheb, Naomi Wildman, Megan Quincy," she spat out faster than you can say Resistance is Futile. "Director Jensin," she added in a more measured voice, greeting her with a polite nod of the head.  
  
"I have the data you requested," said Icheb, handing her the PADD.   
  
Seven took it and quickly skimmed its contents. "It is sufficient. Thank you." She turned to the man beside her. "We should return to work."  
  
I briefly wondered what they had been doing, if not work, but stopped myself from any further speculation. Instead, I asked Seven if she had any recommendations for lunch, seeing that she'd been working down here for two days.  
  
Seven didn't, but Jensin had plenty to say on the topic. "There are a few cafes on the main street that range from good to so-so, and a plaza in the center of the city that has a wide selection. And then there's the Miratah Yehnank Preserve...."  
  
Naomi cut her off with excited chatter about how we were going to the Preserve, and how great it sounded, and could we really eat there?  
  
Jensin smiled patiently. "Yes, there's a very nice open-air restaurant there. If you decide to go, look for my telikke-" I frowned, confused, and wondered briefly why the translator couldn't handle or ignored certain words-B'Elanna's colorful Klingon swears, for instance. I decided it wasn't worth asking; the answer would probably be over-technical. "Godson if you prefer," Jensin continued. "That is, I'm his mother's best friend. His name is Jarek. He's working there in the gardens right now." She suddenly laughed, a soft quivering sound like wind blowing through the trees. "You'll recognize him by the ridiculous white boots he'll be wearing. All the boys are wearing them these days, and of course Jarek has to have them in white. His mother is always complaining how muddy he gets them." She shook her head. "You young ones are so strange. I'm not sure I'd like to repeat those years again." Her eyes shown with wisdom, and I wondered if Jensin wasn't older than I'd first thought.  
  
"Let's go," Naomi appealed. "Before it gets too late." Due to inevitable differences between Voyager (Earth) time and Lucirian time, it was nearly "noon" in Saren-whatever noon meant on a planet with a 27-hour day. Four hours from now, the brighter of Lucira's suns, Miro, would be at its apex, lesser Suto following closely behind. While most Lucirians could tolerate the heat and intense sunlight, they preferred not to. Humans were even less tolerant to the conditions. The Doctor had given us hyposprays to block UV rays and such, but hanging out outside in 105-degree weather still didn't sound like much fun.  
  
"Well, bye, everyone," I said clumsily. "Thank you for the dining advice," I added to Jensin.  
  
She smiled and nodded. "Any time." Her violet eyes shone in the sunlight. Again, I had the strange sensation that I was talking to an unworldly being, some kind of angel.  
  
When we left the building, Icheb produced a map of the surrounding area on a PADD. "This way," he instructed, motioning to the left. We began walking. At first, nondescript buildings in boring shades of gray and tan lined the road, but these soon showed up less and less, eventually disappearing entirely. We found ourselves on a path surrounded by thick forest that seemed to stretch on forever. Lucirians obviously didn't understand the concept of building things close together.  
  
After what seemed like hours, the path split along the edges of a large pond, bluish-green with life. Icheb directed us to the left route. Here, long-limbed trees cast shadows over the perimeter of the pond, the bright sunlight filtering through the leaves, adding layers of light and shadows to the verdant foliage. Bizarre orange amphibians skimmed the surface of the water on broad webbed feet. White birds swooped down and impaled small translucent fish with the two points of their long forked beaks, then shot out their tongues and gulped them up. A furry blue mammal used its six legs to climb up a slender gray tree, swallowing green insects that populated the bark as it went. I couldn't decide which it was more like, a nature preserve or Disneyworld.  
  
"Look!" Naomi exclaimed suddenly, pointing down the trail. I squinted and saw that there was a white pavilion off in the distance. The faint scent of citrus wafted from it. All three of us stared in hunger; it was surely lunchtime by now.  
  
"Come on, let's go," I said, but Icheb was staring at the building thoughtfully.   
  
"What would you say to us having a race?" he finally asked, a mischievous smile on his face. "Losers pay for lunch."  
  
I frowned. "That's really fair. Two girls, one of them ten, racing a sixteen-year-old guy. Thanks, but no thanks." I began walking toward the pavilion at a quick pace.  
  
"So you don't think that you can beat me?" he called from behind.  
  
I stopped and turned around. "I didn't say that," I replied with mock annoyance. "I just don't think it's fair to make Naomi race against you- us, I mean."  
  
"I can too," Naomi insisted, and with that, she began hurtling down the path. Icheb and I briefly glanced at each other as if to say, it figures, and then began sprinting madly behind her.  
  
All my years of gym class suddenly paid off. Icheb was soon ahead of me, but not by much. Naomi was a few yards behind us, but she was still running quickly for a kid her age. I inhaled deeply and began to speed up, a sudden spurt of energy coursing through my body. There was something wonderfully invigorating about Lucira. It was all around me-in the air, in the glistening water beside the road, in the twin suns that shown warmly above. It sounded terribly crazy, but at the same time I knew that it was completely true.  
  
The scenery flew by swiftly, unseen by my eyes. There was only me, and the road, and the sounds of my sneakers hitting gravel and of heavy breathing. Then a dark shape moving closer, and closer....  
  
I suddenly crashed into it and fell back, taking whatever-it-was with me. We rolled onto the bank, tumbled through a thicket of green and brown, and fell into the water with a splash.  
  
Cold water rushed into my mouth and stung my eyes. It was not the kind of pond that you could swim in; it was thick and green with algae. I immediately began struggling towards the surface. Luckily, the water wasn't too deep, and after a minimal amount of splashing I was lying on the grass, coughing. My clothes, soaked with water, clung to my skin. My hair had come out of its dorky ponytail and was now a wet, tangled mess.   
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
I looked for the source of the voice and saw a boy sitting next to me. He looked about sixteen, with dark hair and a Lucirian forehead, and was just as drenched as I was. My stomach went weak as I realized that he was the object with which I had collided. "Yeah... god, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" I stood up and offered a hand for leverage.  
  
"Thanks." He slowly pulled himself up and swept some of the dirt off his pants. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry; I wasn't paying attention-"  
  
"It wasn't your fault!" I insisted. "I was the one who knocked you over. Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
He smiled and nodded, pushing some of his dark hair away from his forehead. I couldn't help but admire the expressiveness of his eyes. It was as if everything he was feeling was there, blue-green and gleaming. My heart began to beat faster, and I knew it had nothing to do with falling into the lake.  
  
Suddenly, Naomi and Icheb appeared, breathing heavily. "Are you injured?" Icheb asked. "We heard the splash...."  
  
"You're wet," Naomi interrupted in a worried tone. "We won't have to go back to Voyager now, will we?"  
  
"Please," the boy interjected, "We keep towels and dryers in the gardening shed. If you and your friends would like to come, we can dry ourselves. No need to go back to your ship."  
  
"Thank you, that would be wonderful," I said rather breathlessly. It was just that I knew too many boys who would get angry after something like that. Anything but apologize and offer to help you dry off. It was... nice.  
  
"You are from Voyager, correct?" asked the boy as we walked up the hill.  
  
I raised my eyebrows. "Yeah. How do you know about Voyager?"  
  
"My telsanke is the Engineering director. She is working with your people on a project."  
  
Jensin! Did that mean... I glanced at his boots for confirmation. Yep, they were bizarre white suede things, apparently the height of Lucirian style.  
  
"You're Jarek!" I exclaimed.  
  
He laughed. "Yes, but how do you know me?"  
  
"Your godmother told us all about you," Naomi chimed in.  
  
"Well, not all about you," I corrected. "She just told us that you work here and complained about your shoes." The sentence seemed awkward and unnecessary as soon as it came from my mouth.  
  
"Now that you know all about me," Jarek replied good-naturedly, "at least tell me your names."  
  
When I said my name, he smiled broadly. "Megan," he pronounced slowly, having difficulty with the "g". "That is almost like a Saren name, Mejin. It means 'flower petal'. It is a very beautiful name, both in my language and in yours."  
  
I smiled, feeling a blush creep onto my face. There was no denying it-he was absolutely charming.   
  
Naomi giggled.   
  
Icheb... glared?  
  
  
***  
  
**Edone Sarenkah - language of Saren  
**  
Yes, I know I'm a nerd. To emphasize this fact, I now present a guide to the Saren language, the language of the Saren province and the predominant language of Lucira. Well, only the words that you need to know to make sense of what's in this chapter, plus a few extra. Here you go!  
  
Pronunciation guide: The words w/ lines over them [e] are long vowels. If you failed phonics, a long vowel is sounded like the pronunciation of the letter (game, beef, knife, home, flute). The rest are normal, short vowels (cat, wreck, slip, not, cut).  
The syllable with the apostrophe ['] after it is stressed. For example, "football" has a stress on the first syllable - foot'ball, while "annoying" has a stress on the second syllable - a.nnoy'ing. Hear the difference?  
  
arelah - beautiful (a.rel.ah')  
brella - wind (brel'la)  
edone - language (a.don'e)  
ekke - son (ek'ke)  
enke - daughter (on'ke)  
jar - blue (jar)  
lucib - home (lus'eb)  
Miro - the brighter sun of Lucira (mi'ro)]  
mej - flower petal (mej)  
miratah - radiant (mi.ra.tah')  
sanke - mother (sawn'ke)  
telsanke - "godmother" (tel.sawn'ke)  
Saren - the most powerful province of Lucira (saw'ren)  
Sarenah - Sarenese (saw.ren.aw')  
Sarenkah - of the Sarenese people (saw.ren'kaw)  
Sarenke - Sarenese person (saw.ren'ke)  
Suto - the lesser sun of Lucira (su'to)  
telike - friend (te.li'ke)  
tilikke - "god-son" (te.lik'ke)  
telinke - "god-daughter" (te.lin'ke)  
yehnank - forest (yeh.nawnk')  
  



End file.
